When the Fall is All That's Left
by Bathorybabe
Summary: Trapped in a future that never should have come to pass, Evanthe Lavellan must find a way to not only save the world that should have been, but also the world that's been burning for the past year. With her path home destroyed, Evanthe finds herself in a world gone mad under the reign of a would be god, and those that she loves near strangers to her. Follows past story cannons.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello Lovies! I'm baaaaack. So after two and a half play throughs of DA:I (in which I promptly romanced Cullen, because how could I NOT?), here I am, and oh my god the feels. So much feelings. **

**So I have a skeleton in my head of an idea for a story, and I decided to do something quite scary: I'm writing it with very little idea of where it's going to go. But the idea intrigued me, and I figured, might as well jump in, I've been gone for far too long. **

**Some notes about this story: This follows my If I've Killed/Heavy are the Hearts cannon which means only one thing: Elissa, Alistair, Zevran, and Harlow will be making their triumphant return. However, the story is primarily about Lavellen, so think of them more as cameo's than anything else. Also, as stated in the synopsis, this posits what would happen in the inquisitor and Dorian never managed to make it back to their time.**

**It goes without saying that spoiler's run rampant through this, including spoilers regarding the epilogue (seriously, I dropped my remote and screamed at the tv when that came up). So if you haven't played through the game yet and don't want key story points ruined, tread lightly.**

**I still need to keep up with my original work, as that takes priority, but I will update this as best I can. And yes, I promise there will be an update to Chosen and Joined...eventually. Also, expect a smutty one shot of Cullen and Trevelan to be posted in the next few weeks.**

**I've missed you all, and I hope you enjoy :-)**

"_You fool, as if it matters what way a man falls down."_

"_When the fall is all that's left, it matters a great deal."_

_-The Lion in Winter_

Somehow it had all gone wrong.

It wasn't enough that the sky had split, spilling monsters and undead upon the earth like a waterfall of the demonic. No, Evanthe Lavellen's troubles had to be compounded a hundred fold by being sent to a future so unbearable it's a wonder she didn't give up right then and there. From her perspective she and Dorian had only been in this new reality for a handful of weeks, but for the others...for her friends and advisers...it had been much longer. Too long. And she had an ill sort feeling that not all of them had come out the other side whole. The dystopian future she had been thrust into was...well, horrifying seemed to light a word.

Dorian had insisted that once they found Alexius and the amulet they could reverse all this, go back in time to a life that was infinitely better. A life where she could still make a difference. It all came crashing down, of course, when they finally intercepted the magister. Alexius, a broken, shadow of the villain he had once been, had mournfully informed them that the prize they sought no longer existed. Corypheus, the mysterious Elder One, had destroyed it, wanting to erase any possibility that Evanthe could somehow find her way back through the maze of time and disrupt his wicked plans. It left her and Dorian with very little options, and they, along with a much changed Leliana, Iron Bull, and Varric were forced to flee Redcliff, nearly dying in the process. But not before slaughtering Alexius. The man was no true threat anymore; a pathetic, grief stricken man who had broken under the reality of just what his ambition had cost. Evanthe felt no pity for the magister, even upon seeing what his son, Felix, had become. Even so, when she had shoved the bladed end of her staff through Alexius' throat, the death had seemed hollow. There was no victory to be found in the man's death, no one's life made better by the taking of his. It was just yet another bitter disappointment to be found in this brave new world.

"You know, it makes it damn difficult to know where we're going when you insist on leading us from behind," Dorian groused as they trudged through the tightly packed snow in the frost back mountains. They had been traveling for weeks, skirting the edges of enemy strongholds as they wove their way across Ferelden. Leliana had directed them, refusing to divulge their destination except to demand that they change course a few dozen times.

"I care little for your difficulty," Leliana hissed back. "You and yours are responsible for all this. The world burns because mage's corrupted every bit of good left in the realm. I refuse to have one at my back, no matter how well intentioned they might be."

"_I_ am responsible for nothing. And have you forgotten your precious Herald of Andraste belongs to the ranks of vile mages as well?" Dorian snapped.

"I have forgotten nothing," Leliana replied with a voice heavily layered in sorrow and rage. "Bear right, we are getting of course." Not for the first time Evanthe cringed upon hearing the bard speak. Leliana, the Leliana Evanthe remembered, had once borne a serenity that was almost enviable. Even when she was angry, there was something soothing to the dulcet tones of her voice, as if her faith were enough of a balm to smooth the rough edges of darker emotions. But that Leliana was gone, replaced with a desiccated woman who's voice was hard, her faith tempered down to the sharp edge of revenge.

"Are you certain you can replicate the amulet, Dorian?" Evanthe asked quietly as they continued to trudge through the frozen countryside

"As certain as I can be given the rather dire circumstances," he replied with a frown. "But it will take time and resources, two things I suspect to be in short supply in this delightful new reality."

"And what happens when pretty boy here produces this magic amulet?" Varric inquired in his eerie new voice. "Does our world just go poof? Bye-bye? Thanks for enduring months of torture, we'll miss ya, but we got to go?"

"I don't know, Varric," she sighed wearily. "Philosophy never was my strong suit."

"Does it matter?" Iron Bull grunted, the glow of his red lyrium casting crimson shadows upon the falling show. "Any world is better that this. It has to be. I'd be happy to die in this shit excuse for a reality knowing I'm happily alive and bedding serving girls in another."

"Last I heard you were still working your way through the camp's laundresses," Evanthe teased, "hadn't even made it to the tavern wenches yet."

"And now I never will," Bull replied, every syllable an accusation. Evanthe flinched under the weight of it. She should have known better that to joke, but she had been so desperate to hold on to some semblance of normal that she had taken whatever small chance was afforded her. It was her own fault, really. She needed to stop thinking of these people as who they were in the before. This was the after, and clearly a year spent under the tyranny of a monster had changed them greatly. They felt like strangers to her.

"When we crest this hill we'll want to head north," Leliana directed, breaking through the tension with practicalities.

"Where exactly are you leading us, Lei?" Evanthe inquired.

"To Skyhold."

"What on earth is Skyhold?" Dorian asked, his breath fogging in the cold mountain air. Leliana's mouth grew tight, her lips thinning to a line, as if the very sound of the mage's voice was an affront to her ears.

"The last dying breath of the inquisition," the bard supplied, her eyes fixed on the horizon. Evanthe followed her gaze, wondering perhaps if this mysterious Skyhold would appear before them just for speaking it. But all she saw was the hazy green of a scarred sky, and a portal to the fade that was larger than she could ever have dared dreamed. Whatever Leliana was searching for on the horizon, it was long gone.

"What is it?" she murmured softly, trying to ease the woman into the idea of trusting her once more.

"I am surprised you do not remember," Leliana mocked. "Though you were not here for it's destruction. This is where Haven stood, Herald, before Corypheus burned it to the ground." Evanthe choked back a sob upon hearing the dire news, feet stumbling to a halt. Leliana barely even noticed, simply continued on along their path. Evanthe struggled to wrap her mind around it, accept the tragedy and move on. But she simply couldn't. Haven had seemed a bit slapdash and held together with wishes and string, but it had lived up to it's name. So many people had sought sanctuary within it's walls, thinking it would keep them safe. That _Evanthe_ would keep them safe. And she had failed them. Had failed the whole damn world. It didn't matter that Alexius' spell was responsible for her absence, it only mattered that she had not been there in the first place.

But she was here now. It was a year late in coming, but Evanthe would do what she could to heal the sky and right this world. She had to...even if meant becoming as ruthless and twisted as her surroundings. The Elder One feared she would return and wrench his dark victory from his grasp? Good. That's exactly what she intended on doing. And she would make sure his screams were loud enough for the whole world to hear.

~oOo~

Skyhold was nothing what Evanthe had expected. Leliana had not been exaggerating when she referred to the fortress as the "last dying gasp of the inquisition." The fortress, if you could call it that, lay in ruins, or damn near. What once would have been an impenetrable monstrosity of stone now stood pitted and scarred from one too many sieges. The ramparts were crumbling, leaving no cover for archers to hide behind, and only one of five original towers remained. A pathetic bridge made of rope and wood stretched over the large chasm that circled the fortress; the only access in or out. Evanthe spied tightly wound bundles of similar contraptions near the drawbridge, making it clear that once under siege the ropes would be cut and anyone stranded on the other side would be left to their fate.

"Looks...cozy," Dorian offered cheerfully.

"Hell, I'll take crumbling and cozy over cramped and demonic any day," Varric groused. "Lead the way, nightingale, I've an itching to sleep in a real bed for once."

"No," Evanthe ordered, and her companions all turned to look at her with varying levels of anger. "You're infected with red lyrium, Varric. Both you and Iron Bull. I can't take the chance that you'll infect the other inhabitants until we know just what we're dealing with."

"If you think I'm going to let you chain me up in some fucking cell again-" Bull growled, taking a menacing step towards her.

"That's not what I said," Evanthe snapped. "And even if I had, you take your orders from me, remember?"

"Whatever you say, _boss_," Bull spat, backing away from her in disgust. Evanthe took a deep breath, steeling herself against the hurt and directed her next question to Leliana. "Is there a place where they can be kept away from the population but still comfortable enough to rest and heal?"

"From what I remember, the servant's quarters were unoccupied last I was here. But that was four months ago. It should do for what you're suggesting." Leliana's tone was just as unfriendly as Bull's had been. But despite the hurt, Evanthe knew she had to draw the hard line, to remind them of why they had once put their faith in her. They needed to remember she was their commander, not just another foot soldier in this war.

"Fine. Send down blankets, water, and a healer. We need to-" Evanthe was cut off by an arrow embedding itself deep in the snow at her feet. Whipping her staff from her back she spun around, eyes fixed upon the ramparts to see a squadron of ten archers poised to fire. "What the-" She was interrupted again, this time by a figure barreling into her and shoving her hard against a massive boulder. Her vision swam with black streaks as she fought to retain consciousness, and distantly she could hear Dorian's cries of protest as he was subjected to his own fair share of brutality. When at last her vision cleared, Evanthe found herself staring up into the hateful eyes of a man who once trusted her implicitly

"Again with the tricks," Cullen growled, his forearm exerting pressure upon her windpipe. "Corypheus must think we are truly stupid."

"Cullen," she choked out, hands clawing at his arm.

"We didn't fall for it the first twenty times, we damn well won't fall for it again." More pressure and Evanthe panicked, lungs working overtime to suck in as much air as possible. Stars began to twinkle on the periphery of her gaze and her face tingled from lack of oxygen. Cullen seemed immune to her distress, simply pressed down further, a snarl painted upon his lips. "He can send as many demons as he likes, tarted up in the Herald's skin. But we know the truth; she isn't coming back and this is nothing but yet another attempt to slip beneath our defenses and weaken us with sentiment." Evanthe's eye's widened at this confession, shocked beyond measure. Corypheus played a deep, and troubling game, it seemed, where nothing was sacred and everything, even a person's hopes, were weapons. No wonder Leliana did not trust her, why none of them did. Her very image had been turned into a form of torture and espionage.

When Cullen exerted yet more pressure upon her neck, Evanthe could feel herself begin to slip out of consciousness. Drawing what little bit of strength she had left she slapped her palm upon Cullen's armored chest and let her mark have free reign. The blast of power sent him flying back into the snow, leaving Evanthe free to suck in greedy gulps of air with ragged, wheezing breaths. Bent over, with her hands resting upon her knees, Evanthe glared at Leliana through a veil of her pale blonde hair.

"You couldn't have called him off?" she accused, and the bard merely shrugged.

"It is better that he sees for himself," Leliana replied. "He will believe now, and that is what you needed, yes?"

"Wish he could have believed in a less violent fashion," she murmured before straightening and limping over to the still prone commander. She took a moment to study him, and was once again struck by how much he, like everyone else she had once known, had changed. His face was gaunter, each line thrown into stark relief, giving him a deadly handsome quality she had once thought he lacked. He had been too refined before for her taste, but a year of living lean had etched away some of that pristine visage and left the rugged looks of a man who truly knew what it meant to survive. A new scar cut through is left eyebrow, a startling contrast to the one that graced his lip on the opposite side, and his hair had grown longer, falling over his brow and into his hazel eyes with a soft tumble.

Cullen caught her staring a glowered up at her, shaking her from her study. She thrust a hand out, offering him help rising, and after only a moment's hesitation, he took it. Evanthe braced herself to haul him upright, only to stagger back when she did so. It appeared he had lost some weight as well, but she remembered the force with which he had attacked her, and knew that though he may not be as bulky as before, a tremendous amount of strength still radiated through his limbs.

"It's really you," he murmured with a bit of wonder. When she offered a hesitant smile his features once more turned hard and he yanked out of her grasp. "Where were you?"

"We weren't anywhere, actually," Dorian called out, and both Evanthe and Cullen turned to regard the mage who was being held captive by two inquisition soldiers. "Mind calling of your men? I do like to be manhandled, but there's a time a place for such things." Cullen motioned for his men to release Dorian before pinning Evanthe once more with an accusatory glare.

"Explain."

"Dorian's right, Cullen," she beseeched. "What has been a year for you has, at this point, been only a handful of weeks for us. Alexius sent us through a rift and we somehow landed in Redcliff dungeon a year later."

"We thought you'd abandoned us," he accused softly. "Left us to die at the hands of that...that monster." Evanthe had nothing to say to that, because in a way it was true. Through no fault of her own, she _had_ abandoned them, and it made little difference whether she intended it or not.

"I don't mean to break up this heartfelt and all together awkward reunion, but could we possibly move it inside? Bianca doesn't like the cold," Varric loudly suggested.

"Get them to the servants quarters. I want to see their wounds treated and their stomachs full before anything else," Evanthe ordered, directing her words to the two soldier's who had held Dorian captive. When they did not move an inch, simply looked at Cullen for confirmation, she snarled low in her throat and took a commanding step towards the two. "Now," she insisted, tone brooking no disobedience. The soldiers hesitated only briefly before acting out her command. Evanthe watched as they, with gentle hands, ushered Varric and Iron Bull across the rickety bridge. The dwarf looked back at her briefly, a smile on his face and nightmares in his eyes, and Evanthe felt her heart break all over again. How long was it going to take to set all this right? And even if she did win the day, would the people she cared about ever be truly whole again?

"Call a meeting," she murmured, eyes still fixed upon Varric's retreating form. "I need to know exactly what we're dealing with."

"At once, Herald," Leliana said with a mocking sense of grandeur, "though it will be a rather lightly attended gathering."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Evanthe asked once Leliana had crossed the bridge.

"Exactly what it sounds like," Cullen replied grimly, turning to make his way into the fortress. "We've had to dig a lot of graves since you've been gone."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello Lovies!**

**First off, a big thank you to everyone has followed this! I'm glad that my random thought has garnered some interest. Hopefully I can turn this into something epic and all together awesome for you. And the biggest shout out of all to Apollo Wings, crazy writing machine (how I've missed you!) If you guys are looking for some awesome Lavellan stuff, check out her absolutely stunning fic, "Practically Magic." You won't be disappointed **

**So I have a better handle on where I want this all to go, and I'm super excited about it. It goes without saying this is AU (after all, everyone's been through hell for a year...) so expect a few liberties to be taken. Also, the DA wiki doesn't give that comprehensive of a glossary when it comes to the elven language so I may have to make up a syllable/word here or there. I'll post translations as necessary.**

**Lastly, if you happen to also be a fan of Buffy the Vampire Slayer I posted a new chapter to my DA/BtVS fic a few days ago, check it out. Just head to my profile and click on "Chosen and Joined."**

**R&R lovies; it feeds the muse (and she's been starving lately).**

**Elfish translations:**

**da'vhenan: little heart**

**Fa emma harel. Halam sahlin: They should fear me. This ends now.**

***Apollo pointed something out to me and I realized a part of Evanthe and Solas' conversation got left out ( oops!) fixed now!**

Evanthe leaned her forehead against the cool stone archway and closed her eyes, sighing deep and wishing for the hundredth time that she was literally anywhere else in the world. So much had happened in the span of one short year and she was still struggling to wrap her mind around it all. One by one the realms had fallen to Corypheus' hand, each defeat shaping the world into something new and all together terrifying. It had taken only six short months for Thedas to burn, and from its ashes a new empire, helmed by a fallen god, had risen to take its place.

When she had called for the meeting, she expected there to be empty places around the war table. Cullen's less than cryptic remark had seen to that. Evanthe had prepared for it, telling herself this was war in the purest sense of the definition and as such not everyone would live to see the end of the battle. But she hadn't been prepared for just how much loss had befallen the Inquisition's ranks. Of those who once had stood by her side only six remained...seven really, but Evanthe was beginning to wonder whether _he_ had really ever stood with her at all.

Grimly, Cullen had told her of the fallen. Of how Vivienne had been the first to die, struck down at Haven when the Venetori, bolstered by the turn coat templars, attacked one moonless night. Josephine was the next, run through with a sword during Skyhold's first assault. That she had been on the battlefield in the first place was enough to anger Evanthe. The woman had been a diplomat, trained in the deadly waters of palace intrigue but not made for blood and battle. She had no place in the skirmish, but the Inquisition had been desperate for numbers, and Josephine even more desperate to make a difference. And so she had met her end, blood soaking a crimson blanket into the freshly fallen snow. Not all had died...some, like Sera, had simply fled. Wanting to take their chances with the new minted leader of the world, or thinking their chances at survival were better if they were not tied to the Inquisition. Sera, for her part, had panicked. It didn't surprise Evanthe in the least. The archer had never really fallen in with what the Inquisition had stood for. She had simply joined to ensure that the everyman wouldn't be forgotten in the shuffle. Big ideas, the philosophy that comes with saving and changing the world had always been a bit much for the Denerim born elf to deal with. Anything that required too much thought had scared Sera, and when the world went to topsy turvy, she bolted, and no one had heard from her since.

So many gone, either by their own doing, or at the word of Corypheus. The hardest to bear had been Cassandra. For some reason the seeker's death and hit Evanthe hard, and she refused to believe it when Cullen had broken the news. The Seeker and her had never quite made it to the realm of friendship, but Cassandra had been the first to give her a purpose in all this, to take what many would have considered a burden and elevate to it calling. It mattered little that Evanthe had never quite believed that Andraste had chosen her; as a Dalish Elf she had little use for petulant human gods. It only mattered that Casandra had believed that Evanthe could make the difference in this fight. And the Seeker had gone to her death, never knowing if Evanthe was the savior they all had hoped for.

When Cullen had recited the death toll it was staggering, each instance of Corypheus' advance leaving piles of bodies in its wake. First Redcliff had fallen, and with it, the majority of Ferelden. Orlais was next, weakened by the sudden assassination of its empress. With the gilded nation in chaos Tevinter had swept in, laying waste to the countryside until Val Royeux flew Corypheus' banner. Antiva, the Free Marches, even Par Vollen, all of them crushed under the boot heel of the Elder One. Nowhere was left untouched by the taint of the magisters, and red lyrium had spread across the landscape like a plague. There were pockets of resistance to be found, but nothing cohesive and nowhere near a true threat. The templars, mages, and even the wardens had all been swayed by the maddening song of an ancient magister and their strength was terrible in it's might. Few political figures remained, among them Elissa Cousland who had sought sanctuary in Skyhold under protection of the inquisition Her husband, Alistair, was nowhere to be found, disappeared along with Harlow Tabris, the hero of Ferelden.

It was devastating, to say the least. But none of it compared to the true catalyst that had set it all in motion. When Leliana had imparted that bit of wisdom, almost gleefully as if Evanthe's hurt was a passing amusement, she had reeled back, as if physically struck. To think that the man she had placed her trust in, had thought so worldly...had allowed herself to feel something for, was the sole reason for all this, it hurt deeper than anything that had come before. Upon hearing the news Evanthe had shut down, numbly issuing a few commands she could barely remember, before taking her leave and making the slow descent into Skyhold's dungeon.

The air was cold here, crisp, bearing none of the dampness that usually came with subterranean spaces. They were too high in the mountains for that, and Evanthe shivered as a chill breeze wafted through the archway. She had yet to take that final step that would bring her through the threshold and into the dungeon proper, stalling for as long as she could. She did not want to do this. Did not want to face the man and have him stare at her with those eyes that seemed to carry the weight of centuries. But she knew she had to, had to face the cause of all this suffering and offer no mercy while doing so. After all, his actions had shown the world no mercy, so why should she? Squaring her shoulders she pushed off the archway, took a deep, centering breath, and crossed the threshold.

He was kneeling in a large cell, hands bound and his neck collared. Six chains ran from the ground to attach to the metal band, giving just enough slack for him to lie down should he so choose. His head was bowed, the tips of his ears rising gracefully over the smoothness of his skull. Evanthe stared at him for what felt like an eternity, all at once overjoyed that he had survived and at the same time severely disappointed that he had.

"Solas," she said at last, voice rough and cracking.

"So you have returned to us," he replied softly, head still bowed to the ground.

"Not to you. Never for you."

"Then you know what I have done," he murmured low, raising his head at last to look upon her. The punch of his gaze hit her hard, and she felt her heart clench off beat. A part of her fought against the idea that he was responsible for all this, clinging desperately to the memory of a man she thought she knew. But when he simply sat there, making not a single protest of his innocence, Evanthe knew with a certainty that every word Leliana had told her was absolutely true.

"Why?" she whispered, hating how hurt and broken her voice sounded.

"It is complicated, da'vhenan," Solas sighed.

"Do not call me that!" Evanthe cried. The words were like shards of glass tearing into her. She remembered the warmth she had felt when he had first bestowed the endearment upon her; a flush that had spread from her chest to her cheeks. They had been circling each other for weeks, offering sly remarks couched in small talk, each testing the waters of the possibility for something more. It was the first time he had been so blatant in his flirting, and she, flustered, had not known what to say. Now, a year later and world apart from that life, she had so many words and they crowded at her tongue. "You think to play upon my sentiment? To cow me with flattery and the memory of something tainted by deceit? Does your betrayal know no bounds, Solas?"

"You are not the first to shout these things at me," he replied calmly. "Nor, do I suspect you will be the last. I play upon nothing. I call you da'vhenan, because that is what you are."

"Stop it," she pleaded, the words barely more than trembling breath over lips.

"You are so young. Not just in years but in history. You come from a world that has forgotten it's birth, making yourselves infants in your ignorance."

"Stop it!"

"But you carry such a heart in you, Evanthe. Such compassion. That you are standing here, unbroken, attests to that."

"I said stop!" she screamed rushing the bars and gripping them tight. "This is not what came before, Solas. I no longer look upon you and see any value. As far as I'm concerned the man I knew was a figment, a pretty lie and nothing more. Do not think you can charm me with your world view any longer. The world around us bleeds and _you_ are responsible. No amount of fond memory can make up for that."

"Nor do I think it would," he countered, still infuriatingly calm in the face of her tirade, "but while you despise the very sight of me, it in no way changes my opinion of you." Evanthe hissed in frustration and pushed away from the bars, turning her back upon him so as to better calm herself.

"Was I just a ploy?" she asked quietly after what seemed an endless stretch of silence. "A safeguard against your guilt in case you were found out?"

"No," he whispered after a time.

"A passing amusement then?"

"No," he replied a bit more fiercely.

"Then what was I, Solas? What was I to you, knowing what you had done? Did you think I would be able to reconcile this away? That I would welcome you into my bed, into my heart knowing what you had done?"

"You did not love me, do not pretend-"

"It doesn't matter!" She cried, whirling about with her hands clenched tight to her chest. "I doesn't matter than it never got that far. You _manipulated_ me, Solas. You toyed with me."

"I didn't," he snapped, eyes blazing. When he saw the sheen of tears in her gold flecked eyes his gaze softened. "I didn't, Evanthe. Please do not cry, da'vhenan."

"You give yourself too much credit," she snorted, hands angrily wiping at the tears. "I have endured far too much in too short a time and I am merely exhausted in mind and spirit. Your deception of me pales when stacked against all that lies ahead."

"It was selfish of me," he continued, as if she had not spoken. "You had such a charm about you, a light I found myself drawn to. You were...it had been so very long since I had been tempted by anyone."

"You were right," she interjected quickly, drawing herself up tall. "What we shared was hardly anything. Some simple flirtatious banter, nothing more-"

"It was more than that," he protested softly. "That night in the garden-"

"Nothing. More," she stated with finality, unwilling to be dragged into a memory that would only hurt her more. "Let us be done with it." Solas stared at her hard, eyes narrowing as if challenging her stance on the matter. Evanthe refused to back down, to show even the barest glimmer of softening. After a time Solas bowed his head in acknowledgment and she watched in fascination as his detached bearing once more wove it's self through his frame; an invisible wall constructed between the two of them.

"Tell me why," she insisted once the silence had become unbearable, "why the price of Armageddon was worth it to you."

"It is simple," he said, the faintest hint of sorrow in his voice, "I did not have the power to unlock the secrets of the orb."

"And so you handed it over to a dark legend, offering the lives of thousands as a bargaining chip in your quest of power? What was to happen then, Solas? What was to happen when the skies bled and the world collapsed?"

"I have spent my life walking paths of the fade few have ever dared to tread," he replied, a bit of heat coloring his words. "There was no one better equipped than I to deal with the fallout of unlocking the orb."

"And such a help you were," she sneered. "How did you even come to be possessed of the orb in the first place?"

"That I can not tell you, Evanthe," he replied quietly, though his tone left no room for argument.

"You mean 'won't.' Keeping secrets is what led to all this in the first place. Do you really think it's in your best interest to continue to withhold information?"

"In this, yes. Some secrets are worth keeping because the truth is not something we are fit to bear."

"Tell me, why do you still draw breath?" Evanthe sneered with a shake of her head. "Why has Cullen or Leliana not taken a blade to your throat as reparation for what you have set in motion? It cannot be that you are equipped to save us all. Otherwise the heaven's would not pulse green and Corypheus would have no throne."

"I suspect it is because they still think there is some use they can pry from me," he replied with a shrug. "They each make a journey down to me every so often. Although, Leliana has not visited in quite some time. I wonder what has happened to the fair nightingale." Evanthe stiffened at the question, irrationally angry that he would ever think to ask after the bard. He had no way of knowing what had befallen her, after all a prisoner was never really taken into confidence. Still it galled her, pricking at a stew of emotions that were already a volatile mix.

"It is a blessing you are undeserving of that you do not know what has befallen her. Do not ask after her again, Solas. Any of them. You relinquished your right to care about their well being long ago." Her words cut at him, she could see it in the sudden hunching of his shoulders. It made her believe that he truly did carry regret for what he had done, but she didn't have it in her to soften towards him, not in this moment. "Why do they come to you?"

"Hard as it is to believe they come for guidance Asking questions and demanding answers for whatever doomed endeavor they are currently undertaking in their war against Corypheus. I educate as best I can, but there is little I can do from the confines of a cell."

"You cannot seriously be appealing to me for your release," Evanthe barked out on a disbelieving laugh.

"Even you have to admit that I am uniquely valuable in this situation," he argued, using that superior voice that had once, long ago, amused her. "The breech is a gateway to the fade. There are very few among the Inquisition's ranks that have felt the likes of it before, and none who have experienced it's undiluted nature. Not even I know all the secrets the fade claims, but I have traversed it's pathways in greater detail than anyone in recent memory, and certainly within Skyhold's walls."

"And this somehow makes up for all that you have done? You think your intellect wipes your slate clean?" Evanthe pressed close to the bars once more, sneering down at him. "Trust me, Solas, when I do free you from this cell, it will only be to walk you to the executioner's block myself."

"You say that with such conviction, but both you and I know you do not have it in you to be so merciless. Your blood does not run cold, da'vhenan." Evanthe smirked and pushed away from the cell, refusing to be thrown off balance by his words. It was true. Her nature was not one of ruthlessness, but that was something that could easily be changed. And she had a feeling that the longer she spent in this future the quicker the darkness would claim her.

"Then I shall have to learn to cool it down," she replied quietly before turning to leave.

"Corypheus is a mighty foe," Solas called after her, a bit of desperation showing in his tone. "He and his army have the world begging at their feet. They will not fear your return."

"Fa emma harel," she replied coldly as she continued to walk away. "Halam sahlin."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: See, this is the problem. I get all excited about a new story and my original work falls by the wayside. Oh, fan fiction, thou are a cruel bitch of a mistress...**

**Once again thank you everyone who has taken the time to fav/follow/review. Every email alert I get is a little burst of happiness in my day. **

**As stated in the newly edited second chapter, a part of Solas and Evanthe's conversation was left out. For those wondering or unclear, no, she does not know who Solas really is. I did got back and add a bit on dialogue in to clear that up, however. **

**And for those wondering how to pronounce her name it is eh-VAN-thee.**

**R&R lovelies. Your reviews keep me going and bring a smile to my face. Love and metaphorical cookies to all who do. **

"He hurts," a voice murmured as Evanthe exited Skyhold's dungeons. Letting out a bit of a gasp she whirled about, slamming her back into a wall as she sought out the bearer of the voice. A man, barely out of boyhood, stood huddled in the shadows, a large brimmed hat sloping over his face. "He hurts because you hurt. He is sorry. Fingers running though hair, soft. Softer than he remembers. A shudder. Tracing the delicate line. He knows he should stop, but he is drawn to her." Evanthe stared at the man with wide eyes, struggling to follow the words as they teased at her memory. When his ramblings ceased, he raised his head, gazing at her with round soulful eyes that seemed to stare straight through her. "He is sorry."

"Who?" she asked hesitantly, swallowing hard and trying to calm herself. There was something about this man that was eerie, that spoke of a strangeness and the unnatural, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"Solas," he clarified.

"Of course he's sorry," Evanthe muttered, glancing back down the staircase towards the dungeon, "he got caught."

"No. Not because of the orb, because of you. He is sorry for the pain and the pleasure he caused you."

"I'm not following."

"His thoughts are tangled. Layered. It hurts to unravel them, but that one lies at the surface. It is clear."

"Who are you?" Evanthe murmured, taking a step closer to get a better look at the man. His skin was sallow, pale and void of a healthy flush. A tumble of shaggy, dull blonde hair fell in his eyes, as if the hat were not shield enough. His limbs were thin and his whole bearing seemed fragile, like he was constantly waiting for a blow to land.

"I'm Cole," he replied quietly.

"Cole? Cullen mentioned something about...said a boy named Cole arrived just before Haven burned, warning them of the approaching army. But no one knew what happened to him. Was that you?"

"Yes," he replied. "It was so loud. I thought the Inquisition could make it quiet again, but it only added new screams. New thoughts. I tried. I tried to make him quiet."

"Make who quiet?" Evanthe questioned gently, slowly inching towards the boy.

"Corypheus. His thoughts are sharp. They hurt. It is better here, far away." Evanthe couldn't make sense of his speech. It was as if she would catch the edge of his meaning but when she sought to follow the thought it would scurry away, flushed out like a rabbit fleeing the fox.

"Why does no one remember what happened to you?" she asked, trying a different tactic to pry information out of the boy.

"It's better if they forget. Remembering raises too many questions and I want to stay here," he insisted getting agitated, hands twisting and twining through the air. "But now that you are here maybe they could see. Me. You could explain. Show them that I just want to help."

"Why would my presence make a difference? You don't even know me."

"You are like me," he replied quietly, hesitantly reaching out to grasp her hand. The mark upon her palm pulsed softly at the contact, a faint hum resonating outwards. "An aberration. You don't quite belong. And this..." he trailed off, brushing a finger against the mark. "It makes it quiet. For a time. I was afraid of it, at first. I didn't want to go back, because I didn't belong there anymore. But it is just a piece. A fragment, and you don't...your thoughts are gentle, even though they are sad. I don't think you'd send me away."

Evanthe felt tears prick her eyes as she stared into the much too honest eyes of the broken boy before her. She still had no earthly idea what exactly he had been saying, but the avalanche of emotion behind the words, that she understood with perfect clarity. He had been hurt, countless times, and the loneliness of being cast aside had become a physical weight, a burden that made him brittle and frightened.

"I won't send you away, Cole," she said gently, forcing a smile to her lips and resisting the urge to hug the boy. She had a feeling such a gesture would only overwhelm him. "Whatever the reason, your warning doubtless saved countless lives. You belong here as much as anyone."

"Thank you," he whispered, the relief in his voice nearly staggering. He hurriedly crouched down, hands reaching for something in the shadows. When he straightened he held a leather bound book out to her, offering it up with a reverence.

"My journal!" she cried, eagerly reaching for the tome. "How-"

"I rescued it from Haven," he explained as she quickly began to flip through the pages. "I liked the pictures." He stilled her hands over a particular drawing, gently drawing them aside so he could peer down up on the sketch. It depicted a halla bounding through the forest, flank raised high as it lept over a protruding root. "You were happy when you drew this."

"You can sense the emotions of objects in addition to thoughts?" she asked with a smile upon her face, tracing the lines of the picture with a soft finger.

"No," he replied. "I can just tell."

"You're right," Evanthe murmured turning the page. "I was happy." And it was the truth. She remembered watching the stag break free from her clan's herd, bounding through their camp with an otherworldly grace. The herdsman had chased after it, cursing loudly in his clumsy attempts at nabbing the creature. But the halla had remained elusive, slipping from the confines of the camp and escaping into the wilderness. Evanthe had watched it go with an envious sort of smile upon her face. The stag had managed to so effortlessly accomplish what she had longed to do. She had yearned to break free of stifling traditions that had always felt so hollow and live wild and unfettered out in the world. The scene had left a deep imprint upon her mind and she had been compelled to capture the moment in which the halla had crossed from being of the camp to being of the forest.

Evanthe continued to smile as she flipped through the pages of the journal, chuckling a bit at an inscription or explaining to Cole the significance of a particular drawing. The boy listened to her intently, asking the oddest sort of questions and depicting her memories in his strange disjointed manner. Evanthe quickly became accustomed to it and eventually figured out a way to understand the seemingly fractured thoughts. It was a beautifully quiet moment in time, and briefly she was able to forget her circumstances and just be. Her calm was shattered, however, when she turned to a page depicting more recent events. There, nestled between scribbled worries and musings lay the likeness of Solas, his face captured in a candid moment of amusement. Staring at the drawing all the heartache of the last few hours came rushing back to her and she quickly slammed the journal shut, refusing to view him as she once had.

"You were happy when you drew that, too," Cole murmured.

"It doesn't matter anymore," she replied stiffly. "Thank you for this Cole. It means a great deal."

"It seemed important," he replied with a shrug.

"Only to me, but yes, important nonetheless."

"Herald?" a voice rang out, breaking through their privacy.

"I'm here, Cullen," she called back, reaching out to squeeze Cole's shoulder. "I have to go. But we'll speak soon."

"And I can stay?" he questioned. "I won't have to make you forget?"

"So long as I command this fortress you are welcome within its walls," she assured him. Cole offered her a hesitant smile and Evanthe was amazed at how it transformed his whole face. The haunted lines of his eyes gave way to a warmth she never would have thought to see in him. For a moment he seemed like any normal young man treading the waters of adulthood, eager to discover the world. Evanthe returned the smile in kind before hurrying out into Skyhold's courtyard to meet her commander.

~oOo~

"There you are," Cullen grunted once she had found him, his tone less than friendly. They were standing in the open courtyard of the fortress, small groups of soldiers running drills around them. "I have the names you requested." Evanthe took the stack of badly torn velum from the former templar's hand and blanched at the sheer number of pages.

"There's so many of them," she bemoaned, scanning over the parchment at the cramped lines of writing.

"As I've said, we've had to dig a lot of graves." Evanthe nodded softly, eyes still tracing over the names of the dead with weary sadness. Some she recognized, the faces of soldiers and craftsmen floating to the forefront of her memory, others were strangers to her, and yet she mourned each one as if they had been her kin. These were men and women who had believed in what the Inquisition had stood for and had given their lives in pursuit of. When she got to Cassandra's name she sighed, dropping her arms and turning to face her commander once more.

"Have their families been notified?" she asked softly.

"What few are still alive, yes, or at least we've tried," Cullen replied. "But this is not war as we've known it. I don't know if you've noticed, but the honor and courtesies once awarded to the field of battle mean little anymore. We are living in a vastly different time, herald, and as such we have little time for the niceties we once adhered to."

"On the contrary," Evanthe countered, eyes narrowed. "I think we have as much time as it takes. You think I am unaware that the nature of the game has changed? Trust me, I am aware. I, more than anyone else, am very much cognizant of just how different life has become. The rest of you have had a year to acclimate to this new existence...I have had but weeks. But just because the rules of war have descended to a new level of darkness does not mean that we forget who we were. Corypheus may taint the very land with his long reach, but by Mythal I will refuse to let him take away what makes us better. These men and women gave their lives for the cause, and I will see them remembered, even if the notion seems outdated. Empathy is not a vice, Cullen, it is a virtue."

Cullen absorbed her speech silently, offering not a single protest. When she had finished he simply stared at her, as if taking her measure and weighing it against some unknown standard. Whatever he decided must have pleased him, because a bit of the distrust that had lingered in gaze slowly evaporated, replaced with grudging respect. It was a small, but vital step towards repairing their relationship, and Evanthe could almost see a bit of the old Cullen return to life.

"As you say, Herald," he offered at last with a slight bow.

"And stop calling me Herald," she demanded. Cullen blinked at her, startled by the demand. When he opened his mouth to argue, she cut him off with a raised hand. "Please. Let us not continue on with the farce. Andraste had nothing to do with any of this, and if she did, she is a cruel and selfish deity indeed. Think upon it, Cullen. Why would Andraste, in all her infallible wisdom send me out of the fade to be her avatar in this, only to allow events to fall out as they did? If she truly sent me to save mankind she went about it in the most absurd way possible."

"It was always about more than that," Cullen argued quietly. "It was about giving the people a figure to believe in, a flesh and blood woman they could look upon and derive hope from."

"Look around, Cullen," she murmured softly, "I don't think there's much hope left to draw on."

"Perhaps you are right," he sighed, gaze traveling over the pathetically small number of soldiers running exercises. Evanthe could see in his eyes how much he cared for each and every one of them. It had been the same back in Haven. Cullen could be quite the overbearing commander, barking orders out like a pissed off mabari, but it was only because he wished for them to be as skilled as possible. Under his command he grew their talents, pushing them to be better, so that when faced with sending them against an enemy, they all had a much greater chance of returning back home. Cullen cared for each and every man under his command, and as such his men respected him greatly. Evanthe was convinced that it was that respect and drive to be the best that had kept the Inquisition alive for as long as it had.

"Our troops need something to fight for, Evanthe," he murmured after a time. "If not a decaying fallacy of hope, than what?"

"Themselves. You. All of us," she stated. "The memory that this world was once better, and it can be again. There are a hundred reasons for them to fight, but not one of them should be because of fallacy born out of desperation. I am not a savior sent from the gods, Cullen. I am merely a girl with an appalling case of bad luck." Cullen's mouth quirked at bit at that, as if he were fighting not to smile. Evanthe ducked her head and grinned, pleased that she was making a bit of headway. She had not seen enough smiles in her short time at Skyhold; understandable considering the circumstances, but upsetting all the same. She vowed to fill the stone walls with laughter one day, if only to prove that happiness was not something that could be snuffed out under the boot heel of oppression.

"Very well, Evanthe," he said, turning to face her full on. "I shall endeavor to see it done."

"Good," she replied, still glancing about at the troops. Something had been bothering her, though she couldn't quite put her finger on it. "This can't be all of them," she at last. "Where are the mages?" Cullen's expression grew hard once more, all the levity leached from his eyes at the mention of the spell casters.

"What few remain are training in the lower courtyard," he replied tightly.

"Why are they separated?" she questioned, shaking her head in confusion. "Shouldn't they-"

"You will find, Evanthe, that most of my men are not comfortable with the idea of having a mage at their back. Not after all that has been done to the world."

"They are your men as well, Cullen," she argued, a bit of hurt showing in her tone.

"Are they?" he questioned. "I thought I had seen the madness that comes from magic unshackled and given free reign. Kirkwall was devastating, but I now know it was merely the surface of what mages are capable of. One only has to look around to see the devastation magic and those who wield it can cause. They are my men only because we are desperate. Had I a choice they never would have stepped foot inside Skyhold's walls."

"And what of me, Cullen?" she demanded, "Had you a choice would I have stepped foot on Skyhold's soil? Or would I still be shivering outside, dodging attacks from your archers as I begged entrance?" Cullen cursed softly, closing his eyes as he realized his mistake too late.

"You are a different matter-"

"I am only different because you and Leliana and Cassandra made it so," she snapped. "You forget, commander, that the whole reason you and yours elevated me was because I was touched by magic. Never mind the power that I was born with. I am a mage like any other, and those spell casters down there were brave enough to stand against their brethren and say, 'no, we will not be a part of your betrayal.' They _chose_ the Inquisition, Cullen. The least you could do is treat them like it."

"It is not that simple, Evanthe," he argued, stepping close to her and pitching his voice low. They had begun to draw an audience, their harsh tones causing a few of the soldiers to step away from their exercises and focus, instead, on their commanders. "Even if I agreed with you, the men will never accept it. Too many have lost loved ones at the hands of the venetori to ever look upon a mage with trust again."

"The men will accept it because you will _make_ them accept it," she growled in reply, refusing to back down. "They take their orders from you, Cullen, not from their own prejudices"

"Herald-"

"Evanthe," she insisted. "And while we're at it, _you_ take _your_ orders from _me_, commander. If you find yourself unable to carry them out then perhaps we should reevaluate whether your talents are being put to the best use." Cullen clenched his teeth, anger sparking in his eyes, but he nodded tightly before stepping away.

"On your order," he said coldly before turning to face his men. "You there! Gather the mages and bring them here. We need to work on your defenses against spell craft. And you, Landry, if I see you drop your guard one more time I'm going to personally break your ribs with my shield. You're a templar trained warrior; act like it." Various levels of grumbling and displeasure greeted his command, but the soldiers acted on his orders without hesitation. Evanthe had been right, Cullen bore the respect of every man under him. It made him invaluable, and she knew this. Her threat had been an empty one, she honestly had no idea how she would do any of this without him there to command their forces, but it had the desired effect.

"Well done, Commander. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting with a displaced Queen." He said nothing in reply, merely nodded, a hard look in his eyes, before turning to instruct his men, all of them, in the deadly art of war.

"Be careful with the Queen, Evanthe," he called to her as she turned to make her way inside the fortress. "You would do well to show a bit more deference when in her presence."

"Are you implying she'll lash out should I not?" she questioned lightly, offended by the implication and tone of his words.

"Not her," he replied, eyes still focused on his soldiers, "but her companion very well might."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Ugh. This one was a bitch to write. **

**Thank you everyone who has faved/followed/reviewed. I have the prettiest, smartest, most talented readers in the world (and yes, I'm not above flattery to keep you reading). Seriously, though, I appreciate each and every one of you.**

**Some notes about this installment. For those of you who have not read "If I've Killed One Man, I've Killed Two" and "Heavy are the Hearts That Wear the Crown" (the two stories of which this follows cannon) you might be a bit confused by some of the conversation between Elissa, Zevran and Evanthe. Feel free to read the stories if you so desire, but if not I'll give you the quick cliff's note version of what you need to know:**

**When Harlow Tabris (Hero of Ferelden) left Alistair in "If I've Killed" she extracted a promise from him that when one of them hears the calling they will seek the other out and run off to the deep roads to die together. She then went off to be with Zevran and Alistair married Elissa Cousland, who was less than pleased to hear of such an arrangement, though she came to terms with it eventually.**

**Hopefully that clears up any confusion you may have.**

**Love to all of you, and please review! Nothing kicks writers block in the face faster than a review!**

**Mia regina: my queen**

**mi cara: my dear**

**Mi dolce usignolo: my sweet nightingale**

Evanthe found Leliana staring sightlessly out a broken window, her hands clasped loosely behind her back. The two were to meet with Queen Elissa Cousland so as to better determine what aid the now displaced queen would offer. When Elissa had sought refuge at Skyhold, fleeing for life after the Venetori had laid siege to Denerim, she had not arrived empty handed. A contingent of guardsmen and soldiers had arrived with her, bolstering the inquisition's forces. But that was over six months ago and Evanthe had little idea what of their number remained Leliana was to join her in the discussion, because in addition to troops, the Queen had brought along a skilled assassin, the mystery companion Cullen had earlier alluded to. Apparently the Orlesian Bard had worked closely with the man and would act as intermediary between her and Evanthe.

"Have you been to see a healer?" Evanthe asked quietly, noting how sickly the woman still appeared.

"Skyhold has but one in residence, Herald," Leliana replied tightly, "and you have sent him off to see to Varric and Iron Bull. Do not fear, I shall not collapse for lack of care. I'm sure you have other matters that are of greater import than my well being."

"Your well being _is_ a matter of great import," Evanthe sighed.

"That remains to be seen," Leliana replied, eyes still trained on the outside world. The stiffness and formality of the words pricked at something in Evanthe, adding another layer to the headache of troubles that surrounded her. She was still aggravated from her conversation with Cullen and the bard's thinly veiled contempt was one insult too many. The despair that had blanketed Evanthe since her arrival suddenly gave way to anger. She became livid, not just at Leliana, but at all of them. The whole ordeal suddenly seemed massively unfair. Those that surrounded her seemed to blame her for the world's ills. Either because she had the audacity to be born a mage, or, through not fault of her own, she had been absent from the fall of civilization. Her patience and understanding had reached its limit, and right then, in that moment, Evanthe just wanted to be pissed at the world.

"It appears you and I have a problem, sister Leliana." If the woman could stand on icy cold ceremony, so could Evanthe. "Though for the life of me I cannot quite figure out why. You seem to hold me responsible for what was done to you, to everyone, despite the fact that I _wasn't here_. Your feelings are misguided and I refuse to allow your anger towards me to fester. You, Cullen, the whole lot...you all act as if I were merely on holiday, traipsing about until I could be bothered to come back! None of this is my fault! I am sorry Fiona was spineless and went tucked tail to the first offer of help, and I am sorry that so many mages followed suit. But, and I can't state this enough, _it wasn't my fucking fault! _ Nor was it Dorian's or any other mage who resides within these walls. You, along with everyone else, needs to accept that or we are doomed. If we are to have any chance at rebuilding, your self pity and malaise can have no place within the inquisition. So I suggest you decide what is more important to you; saving the realm or hating me for the rest of your days."

"I was tortured, Herald. For months," Leliana replied with a deadly calm, turning to focus that haunted gaze upon the elf.

"And it was not my hand holding the whip," Evanthe stated firmly. "I am not suggesting you ignore what was done to you and go about life as you once did. By all means, take the time to heal in body and mind, but do not paint me as the villain in all this. It does neither of us any favors."

"I do not see you as the villain in this horror."

"Then why the coldness? Why treat me as if I-"

"Because it is all a lie!" the bard screamed, her voice echoing through open chamber. Evanthe stepped back at this, caught off guard by the sudden outburst. A silence descended as Leliana breathed hard, the declaration having weakened her. "It is all a lie," she repeated after a time, voice softer than before. "Your reappearance, now, when all is lost and beyond hope, is a slap in the face of all that I struggled to hold faith in. The Maker, his bride, it is all a fallacy, and your reemergence into our world proves that."

Evanthe closed her eyes and cursed softly. She had been so wrong. All this time she thought the anger Leliana had felt towards her had been a misplaced hurt over her being absent for the destruction of their world. But now she could see that Sister Leliana, left hand of the divine, had somehow lost the one thing that had been a constant in her life: her faith.

"Leliana, I..." There were no words, or at least none that she could offer that would not ring hollow and pandering. Evanthe had never believed in the Maker. As one of the clan she was raised to believe in Mythal and Elgar'nan, not some absentee parental figure who had permanently turned his back upon his children. As such she was woefully unprepared to offer comfort in such a situation, so instead she asked questions, hoping the bard would find her way back to faith through her own answers. "I don't quite understand how my presence, or lack there of, somehow disproves the existence of the Maker."

"You were her instrument, Evanthe," Leliana replied, her voice cracking, "a sign from Andraste that she still looked to her children. You were supposed to have been chosen by the hand of something holy, a balm to soothe a frightened world. And then you were taken from us in the hour of our need and were were left to the slaughter that followed. So many of the faithful struck down, and not one sign from either of them that they cared. While the world collapsed the Maker and his bride _did nothing_. If you were truly her herald then you would have returned long ago, not now, when the only choice left to us is how we want to perish. Your absence in all this is the most damning truth of all; Andraste cares nothing for her children, and the Maker gave up on us long ago."

By the end of her speech Leliana was silently weeping, and Evanthe was close to joining her. The passion with which she had spoken, loss and anger weaving through the words like a tapestry, had been gut wrenching to hear. Evanthe could only imagine what Leliana was feeling. To have dedicated your entire life to serving something only to be abandoned you in your hour of need? It must have been devastating.

"So you see, Evanthe," Leliana said on a shuddering sigh, "it is not that you are a villain It is simply that you represent a loss I feel I am not fit to bear."

"You are fit to bear it," Evanthe replied fiercely, gripping the other woman's hands tight in hers. "I can not council you on your lost faith. Having never once believed I was Andraste's herald I am ill equipped to do so. But you are stronger than this, Leliana. Any woman who has done what you have has to be. You ended a blight, served at the left hand of the Divine, and the name nightingale is spoken of in hushed whispers. What is the loss of a cruel god when compared to that? You lost your faith, Leliana, not your strength."

"Pretty words that are easy to hear but hard to believe," Leliana replied grimly, but some of the sorrow had been leeched from her voice, and Evanthe took it as a triumph. "I am sorry, Evanthe. You did not deserve my ire. And please make my apologies to your companion. I treated Dorian abysmally as well."

"Well, he is a bit much to handle in the midst of a crisis," Evanthe offered with a theatrical sigh. It earned her a small smile from the bard, a victory in and of itself. "Come," she urged, taking Leliana's hand in hers and leading her to the makeshift receiving room in which they would meet the Queen. "We're already abysmally late. I may not know much about shem life, but I'm fairly sure it's considered gouache to keep royalty waiting."

"You will find that the courtesies once owed the crown no longer apply to day to day life," Leliana replied as they approached the door.

"All the better," Evanthe muttered as she pushed the door inward without bothering to knock, "seeing as I didn't know them in the first-" She was unceremoniously cut off from her thought by a handsome elf slamming into the door frame, a dagger pressed tight to her throat. The blade was steady, not even a waver, the edge just this side of parting skin.

"I believe in polite circles it is customary to knock, yes?" he asked dangerously, his woodland eyes staring into her with the hard edge of someone who thought mercy a foreign concept.

"Apologies," Evanthe croaked out, hands raised in surrender.

"Oh for the love of-Zevran, please, enough," a feminine and thoroughly exasperated voice intoned from over him shoulder. A moment later a delicate pair of hands wrapped about the elf's forearm, gently urging him to release his captive. Evanthe slid her eyes to the side, landing upon a stunningly beautiful woman. Her mahogany hair was swept grandly into a graceful chignon at base of her neck and her dark, fathomless eyes were filled with equal parts mirth and irritation. She bore a regal air about her, a command that seemed a natural to her as breathing, and Evanthe quickly deduced that this was none other than Elissa Cousland, displaced queen of Ferelden.

"_Mia Regina_, you are as trusting as you are beautiful. Which is to say far too much. We do not know her intentions, and I-"

"Zevran," Leliana intoned softly and instantly the man's entire demeanor changed.

"Lei," he breathed, and in that one word Evanthe could hear a lifetime's worth of worry unravel into painful, all encompassing relief. He released her instantly, dropping his weapon and fair running to intercept the Orlesian bard. Leliana met him half way, her arms already out stretched, and the two crashed into one another, hands clinging desperately to eachother's shoulders as if they were afraid the other might be taken from them at any moment.

"_Mi dolce usignolo_," he mumbled into her shoulder.

"Zevran," Leliana replied, the word a benediction all its own. The two began to converse in hushed, reverent tones, and Evanthe was hard pressed to hear more beyond a few words whispered in Antivan. Whatever they were discussing was clearly a moment of deep emotion, and Evanthe felt like an unwelcome intruder in their midst.

"Do forgive my companion's...enthusiasm," Elissa murmured from over her shoulder, drawing her attention from the pair. "Zevran has a tendency to be over protective. It is a trait I find highly irritating but it has nonetheless kept me alive thus far. One would think that with the world gone to hell at the hands of a mad man that politics would take gracious step back, but alas, no."

"Your Majesty?" Evanthe questioned, still bewildered by all that was happening around her.

"Forgive me, I find myself rather put out at all the attempts on my life of late," the queen huffed in displeasure. "It has been better since we sought refuge at Skyhold, but before that it was one too many for Zevran to handle, and as such he treats any unknown as a threat to be skinned alive and questioned later." Elissa paused briefly, turning to face Evanthe with a well rehearsed smile painted upon her face, her luminous dark eyes flat and empty of anything even resembling emotion. "And please, call me Elissa. It's not as if I have even the slightest remnant of a throne anymore. No need to stand on ceremony, or anything at all, really. I have come to find that hierarchy means little when everything has gone to shit."

"Evanthe Lavellan," she replied with a slight bow, finding herself instantly drawn to woman. "It is an honor to meet you. I apologize for my abrupt entrance, I was-"

"Thoroughly pissed off and trying to hide it," Elissa finished for her with a quirk of her eyebrow. "Having been in the same position enough times I find it easy to recognize in others. Do not worry. You would not be the first person to barge in upon me unannounced My husband makes quite a habit of it." And the mention of her husband the queen's voice cracked every so slightly, and a deep sadness filled her eyes, causing them to darken even further. Evanthe looked away, unsure what she could say in that moment that would not come across as callous.

"I didn't know Leliana had a lover," she offered in an effort to change the subject.

"If she does I am unaware of it," Elissa replied. "Zevran is not her paramour, simply an old friend who worried he would never see her again. Too many of the women in his life have disappeared of late; it is good that she survived. Had she perished I fear I would be the only tie to Harlow he had left, and a poor, desperate one at that."

"Harlow? Harlow Tabris?" Evanthe gaped in shock before letting out a disbelieving chuckle. "The Hero of Ferelden? My, but you do keep interesting company."

"I wouldn't say that. I have met the woman only once. Harlow and I...we have an understanding of sorts." Evanthe could tell instantly that it was far more complicated than that, and while she yearned to pry, she instinctively knew that the Queen would be less than forthcoming. "It is in fact that very understanding that led me to Skyhold. Had Harlow and Alistair not kept to their blasted promise Zevran would never have sought me out, and I would have died in Denerim long ago. I owe my life to his heartache and isn't that just the most godawful thing to be grateful for?" Evanthe had nothing to say to that and was fortunately saved from having to form a response by Leliana and Zevran finally deigning themselves to join the pair.

"You are still beautiful as ever, _mi cara_," Zevran teased the bard, his arm slung over one of her shoulders. "Tell me, how many hearts have you left broken since I've seen you last?" Leliana blushed and swatted at his chest, a girlish giggle ringing forth from her lips. The sound was such an echo of the Leliana that Evanthe used to know that it nearly made her tear up, heart clenching around the hope that perhaps this man man could help the bard find her way back home.

"Herald," Leliana announced as she cleared her throat in an effort to regain her composure. "May I present Zevran Aranai."

"I take it you two know each other?" she inquired lightly.

"Yes, Zevran and I fought alongside one another during the blight. And many other times since."

"I apologize for my greeting, _mi amiga,_" Zevran interjected, "but I do not take the queen's safety lightly. You would do well to remember that."

"That much I gathered. I shall endeavor to knock in the future," Evanthe gritted out through clenched teeth. The man may have had noble intentions but Evanthe was getting rather tired of being shoved and startled into walls.

"Well this is all together awkward and unpleasant, I almost feel as if I'm back at court, how nice," Elissa chirped with false politeness. "Perhaps we could instead focus on the matter at hand. I am assuming, herald, that you come to me to ask just what show of strength I can offer you. I regret to tell you that it is very little. What force accompanied me to Skyhold has dwindled under Corypheus' constant assaults. I have but fifty men left to me, and I am loathe to lose more."

"Fifty is better than none," Evanthe argued, "and you give yourself too little credit if you think your strength lies solely in the troops you command."

"The lovely herald has a point, _mia regina_, one I have made countless times," Zevran interjected, earning him a sharp glare from the Queen.

"We have been over this before, Zevran. I do not wish to have the same argument yet again."

"But you have such a fire in you when you yell, _mi cara,_" he teased.

"I'll show you fire, you uppity little man. I swear-"

"If we could focus," Evanthe interrupted with impatience. "To what are you referring Zevran?"

"Our fair Elissa is not the only displaced noble in the realm," the elf replied, "only the most royal, yes? There are a host of others, each hiding out in their own crumbling fortresses. What Elissa is objecting to is the notion that we call them home to court, as it were."

"I fail to see why that would be a bad thing," Evanthe murmured, quirking a brow at the queen who was making every effort in the world to avoid meeting her eyes. "I'm assuming each of these nobles have a retinue of soldiers?"

"Most do, yes," Elissa replied quietly before throwing her hands up in exasperation. "But it does not discount the fact that even if I were to call them to Skyhold and hold court they very well may not show up!"

"Why is that?" Evanthe questioned.

"Look around, Evanthe," Elissa remarked wearily. "What is left of my kingdom but ash and corpses? There is nothing for me to rule over let alone hold up a cause. Calling a court would do little. The ruling class no longer exists. We are, all of us, merely children hiding in the shadows waiting for the monster to swallow us whole. There is no point in calling the nobility to my side, because there is nothing left to fight for."

"_Our men need something to fight for," _Cullen's voice echoed through mind. Evanthe frowned, turning the words over in her head. At the time she had argued against them, wanting to simply be a woman and not the tool of a goddess. But perhaps the former templar had a point. Soldiers by their very nature needed a figure to rally behind, someone they could build up into legend to make the horror of war somehow bearable. Evanthe had no desire to be that mythical savior, but she had an idea of someone who might just be willing.

"I think you're wrong," she murmured after a time, "there is plenty still to fight for. But I see your point. We need something...large...impactful. Something close to a miracle to show the nobility that you still bear notice."

"I don't know if you've noticed, _mi amiga,_" Zevran interjected, "but miracles are in short supply as of late. Perhaps you would do better to seek out a simple quirk of fate, instead?"

"No," Evanthe replied firmly, keeping her eyes upon the queen, "a miracle. You said your husband and the Hero of Ferelden had made a promise to one another?" Upon hearing the question Zevran cursed low, rattling of a string of Antivan swear words that would make even the most salty of sailors blush.

"Yes," Elissa replied tightly, "that when the first of them heard the calling within their blood they would seek the other out."

"But it wasn't a true calling, right?" Evanthe asked, looking to Leliana for clarification.

"No," the bard agreed. "it was not. But by the time we realized Corypheus was manipulating the wardens it was too late. Commander Clarel had sacrificed them all in a desperate effort to stem the tide of the false blight."

"Was Harlow and Alistair among them? Did they journey to Adamant?" Evanthe prodded and she saw the moment in which the Queen caught on to her thinking, her dark eyes going wide in surprise.

"No," Elissa answered quickly, the faint stirrings of excitement in her voice. "That was never their agreement."

"Then what was?" Evanthe goaded. "Where did the Hero and King of Ferelden run off to?"

"The deep roads," Zevran replied quietly, a guarded expression in his eyes. Evanthe could see that the man was holding himself back from feeling even the barest glimmer of hope. It was easier for him to believe the worst, perhaps because in hoping for the best he had faced too much bitter disappointment. "I know where you are going with this, _mi amiga_, but even so. Even if the calling had not felled them, then surely a year spent in the company of the darkspawn army did."

"Zevran-" Elissa argued gently with an out stretched hand, but the elf was having none of it and angrily brushed away her offer of comfort.

"No, _mia regina_," he growled, "I know you wish to hold on to the fantasy that he yet lives, but I can not abide such a luxury"

"Do you wish so badly for her to be lost to you?" Elissa countered angrily.

"Yes," he cried, "because it is better to think her dead than think of her abandoning me as she did! That she would choose a year in hell with that buffoon over time spent at my side!"

"Have a care with how you speak of my husband," Elissa warned.

"Enough!" Evanthe cried, stepping between the two of them. "Clearly there is more to the story than either of you is letting on. But I frankly don't care at the moment. My only goal is garner whatever strength I can so that the next time Corypheus knocks upon our door we have the slightest chance of damaging his reign. To do that I need as many allies and their forces as we can get. If Elissa is not enough to win the nobility's trust then perhaps Alistair and Harlow are."

"It is a fools errand and-"

"I said enough!" she thundered. "I am in command here, Zevran. If you and your queen wish to remain under my protection, then you will fall. In. Line." For a moment Evanthe was certain he would not back down. His fists her clenched and she instinctively readied herself for the blow. In the end it was Elissa's soft plea that had him retreating, stepping back from his rage and reluctantly agreeing.

"Please, Zevran," the queen murmured, "I have to know. I have spent a year wondering and I can wonder no more. I must take the chance, however small. And if the herald is right...would you not give anything to look upon her once more?"

"As you say, _mi cara_," Zevran whispered, turning to take his leave, "I am yours to command." When he had gone, and it was just the three women left alone, Evanthe let loose the breath she had been holding, a tension easing from her shoulders.

"It is settled then," Elissa muttered. "You have my blessing. I ask only one thing in return." Evanthe looked at her expectantly and the queen took a deep shuddering breath. "I would like for Zevran and I to accompany you when you...when you start the search."

"I don't think you know what you're asking, Your Majesty," Evanthe argued, "I cannot, in good conscious take you-"

"If you are worried about my safety you need not bother. Zevran may be angry with me, but he'd protect me with his life. And even in that weren't true I can hit the bulls eye of a target from fifty paces with my eyes closed. I have always been more than able to protect myself, herald."

"Very well," Evanthe said after a time, "but you will humor me and surround yourself with a contingent of your guardsmen. I would hate to rescue your husband only to inform him of your death." Elissa nodded in agreement and Evanthe sighed, mind already spinning out all that lay ahead for this plan to succeed "Of course, none of this means anything if we cannot find them. It's not as if the deep roads are localized to a specific region. They traverse nearly all of Thedas."

"I believe I can be of help with that," Leliana interjected, and Evanthe turned to her expectantly. "During the blight Harlow, Alistair and myself spent a month or more deep within an ancient part of the deep roads known as Ortan Thaig. From a strictly practical standpoint it would make sense that they would return. When a warden goes to his calling he intends to die, valiantly, by taking as many darkspawn with him as he can. What better location to slaughter the creatures than one that they have already traversed, one they know and can use to their advantage?"

"And how do we get to this thaig?" Evanthe asked, almost dreading the answer.

"The entrance is in Orzamar," Leliana supplied, "though I do not know what has befallen the dwarven kingdom since Corypheus unleashed his army."

"I suppose we'll find out when we get there," Evanthe muttered, "though if it remained untouched, it would be a miracle. If not...well, it's not alone in its downfall."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank you once again to everyone who has faved/followed/reviewed. You all make me so happy I could practically dance. **

**So I could not for the life of me find out an approximation of Cullen or the Inquisitor's age, so I just made them up. I put Cullen in his mid-thirties, thinking he was probably in his early twenties in DA:O, and I put Evanthe in her mid-twenties because the letters from her clan still refer to her as "Da'len," inferring that she is still rather young. **

**Also, I was playing DA:I today and while I was at the war table Cullen started talking about "calibrating" the trebuchets and Josephine started giving him shit for "calibrating" them too much. Bwahahaha, how I love the random Mass Effect easter eggs in this game. **

**Please review lovies, I adore your feedback!**

Having decided upon a course of action, Evanthe felt her mood vastly improve. It made her feel useful again, as if her presence in this world would actually matter. Of course a journey into the deep roads held no guarantee of success, but it was better than wringing her hands and waiting for Corypheus to attack. And if they succeeded? Having Ferelden's King once more in a role of authority, his presence bolstered by the Hero of Ferelden at his side, would most certainly make what was left of the world sit up and take notice. True it would make them more of a target, but what it would mean to those nobles in hiding and their retinues far outweighed the risk. In addition to which, it would give those enslaved under Corypheus' rule actual flesh and blood heroes to believe in. All of this lifted Evanthe spirits as she made her way back out to the courtyard, Elissa Cousland in tow. The two were to decide which among the inquisitions ranks would be trusted and competent enough to accompany them, and which were invaluable to Skyhold's defenses.

As they neared the courtyard's entrance the sounds of fighting began to echo against the stone walls. Evanthe frowned, put off by the cacophony. It was not the sound of simple training matches, no, there was an undercurrent of anger to this. Voices were raised, men were shouting, and the unspoken desire to make blood run floated above the clashing of swords and the crackling of magic. Something was wrong, and Evanthe broke into a sprint, fearing the worst. When she burst into the courtyard, Elissa running close behind, she found the soldier's of the inquisition engaged in a fierce skirmish, though not with Corypheus and his army as she had feared, but with themselves.

The courtyard was chaos. Everywhere she looked soldiers and mages openly engaged in hostilities, their swords and staffs flashing through the air. Insults and threats were shouted over the clang of weapons clashing together, and in the midst of it all stood Cullen, trying desperately to restore order.

"Maker, what's gotten a hold of them?" Elissa choked out, stunned by the sudden turn of events.

"It appears they are having a difficult time grasping the concept of 'brothers in arms,'" Evanthe replied, already stomping towards the group to put an end to the glorified pissing contest. When she arrived at the edge of the fray she reached out, snatching away a staff from one of the mages and sending a blast of power at his adversary. Eyes fixed on Cullen who had gone from playing mediator to being on the receiving end of a mage's spell craft, she continued to slog her way forward, putting down those that got in her way with a well timed spell or a simple jab with her borrowed staff. She arrived at her commander's side just as the mage he was facing off against lobbed a fireball square at Cullen's head. Evanthe reacted without thought, throwing a barrier around the former templar before any harm could befall him.

"Enough!" she cried, slamming her staff hard against the frozen ground. The blast of power that radiated out from her was strong enough to knock the legs out from under a great many men and it was only then that the fighting ceased. The silence that fell was almost suffocating, and Evanthe took the time to stare down each and every man who dared meet her gaze. When at last she had taken the measure of the men who were supposed to serve at her word she turned to the mage who had thought it a bright idea to attack her commander.

"You," she commanded softly, the bladed point of her staff hovering over the man's throat, "Leave. You are no longer welcome within Skyhold's walls." The man gaped up at her, shocked at her declaration. When he began to sputter in protest Evanthe simply raised her hand, the mark upon her palm sparking green, and quirked an eyebrow upwards in an open dare. The mage scuttled back, stumbling to his feet. He quickly glanced around, searching for support among those gathered, but none would meet his gaze. Evanthe cleared her throat, making it clear that she was impatient with his dawdling, and motioned for him to be on his way. The man fled, feet tripping over one another as he scrambled towards the great portcullis that led to the outside world. When she was sure he had gone, Evanthe turned her attention to her commander, her hand thrust out in offering. Cullen grunted and wrapped his calloused hand around her forearm, hauling himself upright.

"I told you they wouldn't take well to the idea," he murmured.

"And I told you to make them," she snapped, eyes blazing. Turning once more to regard those assembled she let out a snarl of disgust, the sound wicked enough to make not a few men flinch. "It is not enough that I am thrust into the losing side of a war, but now I am tasked with separating brawling children angry at having to follow orders. You are all, each and everyone of you, an embarrassment. I no longer care what your reasons are for distrusting one another. It ends now. Simple as that. If we are to have any hope at all of coming out the other side of this whole you will put aside your differences and fall in line. If you find yourself unable to do so, then by all means join your former companion, I'm sure he'd be glad of the company." Not a word, not a cough, not even a breath met her statement, and most of the men had the grace to look abashed by their actions. Evanthe raised her staff, swinging it around to point at a soldier clad in patched together armor. "You. You need to learn to angle your shield better, you keep it upright and you'll lose your eyes." When a snicker came from one of the mages she swung upon the woman, eyes narrowed, "And you! Why did you just let him swing upon you? Did it never occur to you to block?" The woman's blank stare confirmed to Evanthe that it, indeed, had not. Sighing in exasperation she whirled back around towards Cullen, letting the staff fall from her hand as she began to shrug out of her long leather coat. "Pair them off commander," she ordered. "One mage to one soldier. And give the spell casters a blade a piece."

"Evanthe?" Cullen questioned, his voice wary and confused.

"We are no longer running them as separate battalions. You will teach the mages to wield a blade and you will teach the soldiers how to recognize the first call signs of a spell so as to better deflect them. Our forces will be cohesive, skilled, and fully capable of keeping themselves alive. They will spar together, they will eat together, and they will bed down together. This self-imposed segregation ends now. Pair them off, commander, that's an order." Cullen nodded tightly and began to call out names, the groupings of which were met with varying levels of grumbling and complaining. A sharp look from Evanthe had them swallowing their protests and within minutes the courtyard was once again filled with neat rows of soldiers awaiting orders. Nodding in approval she strode to stand before Cullen and reached out to unsheathe his sword.

"You're with me," she murmured softly, examining the weapon with a curious eye. "Teach me what to do with this blasted thing." Cullen stared at her as if she had sprouted a second head, but slowly a smile spread across his face and Evanthe could see he approved immensely. She would see her order enforced by being the example, and woe unto anyone who complained in her presence.

"Lesson the first," Cullen murmured, reaching out to reposition her hands, "try not to hold it as if you are scared to death by it."

"Easier said than done," she replied tartly, earning her a small chuckle from the man. And with that quiet noise of mirth, the soldiers and mages surrounding them began to slowly, grudgingly, work together.

~oOo~

"Ow! Why do you insist on torturing me?" Evanthe demanded, shooting a reproachful glare over her shoulder at the man who was indelicately patching her up. Cullen grunted and continued his ministrations, threading a needle through her skin once more.

"I told you time and again to roll with the fall," he replied.

"And I told you time and again to duck when you heard the first syllable of that blast spell. And yet all you have to show for your mistake is a manly bruise while I'm bleeding out before your very eyes."

"You're not bleeding out," he huffed, though she could hear the smile in voice, "it's a minor laceration. Hold still...I'm already doing a bad enough job of this as it is."

The two of them were perched on the end of Cullen's bed high in the rafters of Skyhold's one remaining tower. Night had begun to fall and the hazy purple of twilight cloaked the green of the sky, creating a swirling kaleidoscope of color that was actually quite beautiful if one didn't stop to think upon it long. After hours of exhaustive training Cullen had insisted upon tending to Evanthe's many wounds, seeing as he was responsible for most of them. She had instructed her commander not hold back, despite her lack of education when it came to melee battle. He had complied, and when she was pitched to the ground almost immediately, everything around her had come to a halt. Those that were gathered had held their breath, waiting for the reprimand they were certain was coming. When she merely struggled to her feet and growled "again" some of the tension in the courtyard eased and the training continued on. Evanthe gave as good as she got, though Cullen had fared better overall than she. He was a templar trained warrior and as such already had prior experience battling against magic. Evanthe had no such luxury and by the time Cullen had called the training session to an end she was covered in scrapes, bruises and more than her fair share of cuts. Most were surface wounds but one deep laceration lay above her shoulder blade, the result of her inaction and Cullen's too slow reflex It could have been a lot worse, luckily Cullen had corrected in time to avoid running her through, but she was still cut deep none the less.

"I have a better respect for your skills commander," she offered, wincing as he began another stitch. "I'll admit, you make it look so effortless I thought swordplay would be an easy lesson. My mistake."

"If it appears effortless it is only because I've spent the better part of two decades making it so. Believe me when I say it takes a great amount of effort to effectively wield a blade." Evanthe grunted at this, almost pouting and her commander chuckled at bit at the sentiment. "It was well done, what you did today," he offered quietly after a time. "We can no longer separate ourselves on the field of battle as we once did. If we are to be considered any sort of threat to Corypheus we can no longer abide by the strictures of war as we once used to. I am...impressed, Evanthe."

"You seem to be the only one," she muttered. "I have the distinct impression that I earned myself no favors with the troops."

"You are changing the nature of the game, Evanthe. You are fighting against centuries of ingrained battle tactics and creating new ones. It is difficult to adapt to, I'll admit, but eventually everyone will see that it is the right course."

"And the forced solidarity?" she questioned. "I have a feeling that will be quite the sticking point for not a few of the men, both soldiers and mages alike. Ow!"

"I am sorry," he offered for what must have been the hundredth time; apologizing not for the pain of the mending but for the existence of the wound in the first place.

"And I told you don't be. You did exactly as I asked. It does me no favors to be coddled. Corypheus and his army will show no hesitation, and as such neither should you. Besides, I'll now have an ever present scar to remind me to 'roll with the fall.'"

"Even so," Cullen murmured, "I hate that I was the one to give it you. That should never be the nature of our relationship. I am supposed to be your sword, not the one wielding it against you."

"That's quite the chivalric sentiment," Evanthe replied softly. "I thought such things had gone out of fashion what with the imminent apocalypse at our doorstep."

"Some habits die hard, I suppose," he replied, tugging softly upon the needle. Evanthe hissed at the sensation, her muscles tensing, and Cullen absentmindedly placed a comforting hand across the expanse of her back, idly rubbing soothing circles until she relaxed once more. "Besides," he said after a moment, "I'm not so chivalrous. After all I have a barely clothed woman perched upon my bed. I'm sure the lay sisters in the Chantry would be appalled if they could see me now." Evanthe couldn't help but laugh, glancing down at her half-clothed form. She had stripped down to her breeches and breast band so as to give him easier access to her injury. She hadn't thought twice about it at the time, but now that Cullen had mentioned, it became painfully obvious. A light blush stained her cheek and she became suddenly aware of his close proximity. It didn't matter that she had never before thought of her commander in that fashion, she was suddenly very cognizant of the fact that she was a woman and he a man, and were anyone to stumble upon them in such a state it would be very easy to infer certain assumptions about their relationship. Cullen must have realized it to, his hands stilling above her and for a moment neither spoke, a tension seeping between them.

"I think they'd be more appalled at you caring for mage," Evanthe supplied at last, clearing her throat in an effort to erase the awkwardness "I thought there were rules governing such a thing."

"Yes, well, the Chantry isn't in a position to be ruling over much of anything as of late," he replied, suturing her once more. Evanthe could feel the tug as he knotted off the thread. "And even if they were, I gave up that life long ago."

"You may not wear the armor, but the ideology is still there," she countered, arching her back carefully so as to test the give and pull of her stitches. "Much as it might pain, you are still a templar, Cullen, just one a bit lapsed on his vows." She turned then to regard him, but he quickly leaped from the bed, striding away with his back to her.

"Can we perhaps speak of other matters?" he asked softly, reaching out to pluck a jar of balm from off a nearby shelf. When he turned to face her his countenance was guarded, formal; nothing more than a commander tending to one of his soldiers. Any thread of familiarity between the two had seemingly been cut in that moment, and Evanthe realized she had touched upon something that unnerved the man. It seemed everywhere she turned she was to be set upon by people suffering from crises of faith, making it clear that not all casualties in war were of a mortal nature. She sighed wearily before pushing herself off the bed and striding over to him. Dutifully turning her back she said not a word as he applied the unguent to her stitches, a foul smelling concoction that reeked strongly of elder moss. When he was done she snatched the jar from his hand and took a step back, eying him critically.

"Your turn," she commanded after a moment and he blinked rapidly at the words.

"Pardon?"

"You may not be bleeding, least not that I can see, but in between sword play I dealt you my own fair share of damage. Don't think it escaped my notice that your breathing is a touch shallow. If I had a coin to my name I'd wager I'd cracked a rib or two."

"I'm fine," he muttered trying to step around her. Evanthe retaliated by jabbing him hard in the ribs. The accompanying hiss that escaped from the man proved her point and she merely folded her arms, a triumphant look upon her face. "I have been dealt much worse by far greater adversaries, herald-"

"Evanthe," she corrected.

"Evanthe...believe me when I say I shall recover without the aid of your tender mercies."

"Be that as it may, I need you at your best, Cullen. I need to know that when I set off to the deep roads I'm leaving Skyhold in the hands of the greatest warrior we can claim...not an old man who's torso cannot bear the weight of a sword."

"Old man?" he sputtered, affronted, "I am but thirty-seven!"

"Practically ancient," Evanthe teased.

"Yes, well, if I am to be suddenly resigned to ranks of the elderly, then you, my dear herald, are but a child."

"I am no such thing!" she protested. "Twenty six is a perfectly respectable age."

"Practically an infant," he mocked and Evanthe swatted him playfully.

"I'll have you know I was always considered quite and wise and mature for my age."

"Of that, I have little doubt," he replied with a smile. "It takes great wisdom and maturity to deal with the fallout of all the misadventures you seem to find yourself in.

"Enough," she chuckled, "You are distracting me from my pursuit. Are you going to let me tend to your injury, or must I force medical care upon you and disrobe you myself?" A blush stained Cullen's cheeks at that moment, and Evanthe winced, realizing what she had innocently alluded to. She was once again made painfully aware of her state of undress and hurriedly turned to retrieve her tunic. "Come now, strip," she command, followed by a curse as each word out of her mouth made the situation all the worse. She could hear the creak of leather as Cullen obeyed and she hastily donned her clothes, feeling a bit more in control once she was covered. The feeling was fleeting, for when she turned around she was greeted with the sight of Cullen's bare, and all together impressive chest. Having lived isolated with the Dalish she had never had the opportunity to see a human male laid bare before her. And although he was lean, the result of having to live hard these past months, he was still far broader than any elf she had encountered.

"Evanthe?" he prodded, voice expectant and she jumped a bit, embarrassed at having been caught out staring. Mentally chiding herself she pretended to become absorbed in the bruise that curled it's way across his torso, a pattern of blues fanning out into sickly purples.

"As I suspected," she murmured. "As soon as he's finished his assessment of Varric and Bull, I want the healer brought to you right away. We can't have you hobbled, commander. Not now."

"I'm not hobbled," he grumbled as she strode to meet him. "And there are far more dire cases than mine in the infirmary. I won't have another man dying on my account."

"A good many more will die if you are incapable of helming a defense, Cullen," she pointed out, applying a bit of the unguent to a nasty looking scrape along his clavicle. "We're at war. Sacrifices have to be made."

"We've already sacrificed more than our fair share," he replied bitterly.

"I doubt very much that fair counts for anything in war."

"It used to," he spat. "Before Corypheus there was an honor to be had in battle. No matter how vicious the skirmish there was an unspoken accord between enemies. A silent agreement acknowledging that either side refused to make war more horrifying than it already was."

"Pretty to think so, Cullen," Evanthe muttered as she searched the shelves for a roll of linen. "Those that waged the bloodshed may have told themselves that so as to better sleep at night, but there is nothing virtuous in taking a man's life at the behest of another. It is royally sanctioned murder on a grand scale and there is little that is artly or noble about the cause of it. You of all people should know that."

"Why me of all people?" he questioned as she held one end of the linen against his sternum. He automatically covered her hand with his own, helping to secure it in place as she began the slow task of tightly winding it about his torso.

"Because you served the Chantry, Cullen," she so supplied simply. "You held a position of command in a war that has been waging for centuries. You think the mage rebellion was the opening salvo of hostilities? No, it was merely the most recent. The Chantry has been openly battling the mages for hundreds of years; a holy war that has no end. A direct result of which is the nightmare we all find ourselves living."

"You cannot be suggesting that the Chantry is responsible for Corypheus' rise to power," he protested trying to step away from her. Evanthe kept him close with a firm tug upon the linen, a reproachful glare in her eye.

"Let us not pretend, Cullen. We both know that the current state of the world is our doing. The constant vilification of the mages, the templar order given free reign, and in the midst of it all a Chantry that is as archaic and outdated as it is oppressive. Not to mention the near constant hostilities between nations. Orlais and Ferelden, the Dalish and the Shems. Tevinter and everyone. _We_ were well on our way to throwing the world into chaos all on out own, Corypheus merely took advantage of the timing."

"Sorry to barge in," Dorian announced as he climbed into the room, interrupting them and effectively cutting off what ever tirade the commander was about to launch into. When the mage took in the sight of a half naked Cullen and Evanthe pressed close to his chest, her hands reaching back to pass the roll of linen around his ribs, he drew up short, a delighted smile on his face. "It seems I have interrupted. By all means do continue, you won't even notice I'm here."

"This isn't what it looks like," Evanthe huffed, quickly tying the linen into place.

"Isn't that always the case?" Dorian bemoaned. "One of these days, just one, I'd like to stumble upon something clandestine and have it be _exactly_ what it looks like."

"What do you want?" Evanthe sighed impatiently, her arms crossed.

"I want a great many things, Evanthe my dear. Not the least of which is a good stiff drink. But seeing as spirits are in short supply-"

"Not as short as you would think," Cullen corrected, tossing him a nearly empty bottle of brandy. "Now if that is all-"

"How very delightful of you, commander," Dorian exclaimed, popping the cork and drinking deep. "But as much as I enjoy the gift, that is not why I came. No, I came to beg permission of our lovely herald to do something rather unorthodox."

"What?" Evanthe asked warily, her mind running through everything the Tevinter mage could possibly consider "unorthodox."

"I need you to let Solas out of the dungeon," Dorian replied, sobering instantly, his voice free of any trace of frivolity.

"No," Evanthe answered immediately, throwing a hand up and turning away.

"He is an expert in the fade, Evanthe," Dorian argued chasing her about the room. "Look, I heard the stories, and he may be a right bastard, but he's a bastard with access to knowledge."

"I don't care if he has the keys to the eternal city, I'm not letting him free," she cried.

"I need him," Dorian pressed, reaching out to grasp hard at her bicep and forcing her attention. "If you ever want to leave this rotting excuse for a future, you will give me access to him. I cannot reconstruct the amulet alone. It has become abundantly clear to me that Alexius tampered with my original design. Upon further reflection I do believe that we were transported not through a rift in time, but in the fade itself."

"Solas is responsible for all this, Dorian," Evanthe hissed, yanking her arm out of his grasp. "I will not grant him is release simply because you are having a hard time sorting out a riddle."

"I thought the Chantry was responsible for the downfall of the world," Cullen mocked low, as if he did not want her to hear, but Evanthe caught it all the same.

"Do not twist my words because you are feeling pissy over tying yourself to an oppressive theocracy," she spat before turning her attention to Dorian once more. "I've made my decision, Dorian, do not ask again."

"Are you really going to let a lover's spat color your decisions in this?"

"Excuse me?" she asked softly, the words dangerous and warning all on their own.

"I only ask because one would think that as leader of our wonderful little order, you'd want every tool available to you to see yourself home to a better time. Solas is part of that. So I can only guess that your reluctance has more to do with personal matters than with practicalities."

"You son of a-" Evanthe spat launching herself at the mage only to be yanked back by Cullen, one arm securely about her waist the other with a hand clamped tight to her mouth.

"I think it best if you leave, Dorian," Cullen offered tightly, struggling to keep a hold of the royally pissed off elf.

"If you could, try and make her see reason," Dorian requested with an air of indifference as he finished off the last of the brandy. "I cannot save the future of the world without Solas' help. She must see that, and if she can't perhaps you can. Thank you for the drink, commander." When the mage had taken his leave Cullen released Evanthe and immediately ducked her incoming fist, his ribs protesting the entire time.

"Don't you ever hold me back, again, Cullen," she cried.

"You'd have regretted it had I not," he argued. "Much as he upset you, you aren't the type to lash out at those offering you help. And as infuriating as the man is, he _is_ trying to help."

"You can not seriously be agreeing with him!"

"I despise Solas as much as the next man," he answered, turning to redress himself. "But I have to believe in a better world Evanthe. If Dorian can achieve that by unshackling the mage? Then that is the price we must pay."

"But it isn't fair, not to the men and women who are fighting for their very lives at the cost of his actions. Not when we are literally surrounded by the graves of the dead that he responsible for."

"As you said," Cullen replied with a weary shrug, "fair counts for very little when it comes to war."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hello lovies. A blessed yule, happy Hanukah, and merry Christmas to all. I hope your holiday season is filled with joy, light, and loved ones.**

**For all who have faved/followed/reviewed, I can't thank you enough. Lots of metaphorical gingerbread cookies to all of you.**

**R&R lovies...reviews are the best Christmas present a girl could ask for!**

_Evanthe walked quietly through the garden, her feet bare and sinking into the dew dappled grass. The air was unusually warm for the season, heavy, and crickets pulsed a rhythmic melody through the gentle stillness of the night. Brushing her fingers over the thick and waxy petals of a night lily, she smiled, hearing the soft foot falls of someone striding to join her._

"_You walk too heavy," she chided softly, not bothering to turn around. "How are you to sneak up on anyone with a stride such as that?"_

"_Perhaps I do not wish to sneak," Solas replied, stopping just behind her. Evanthe could feel the line of his body as sure as if he had pressed himself against her. She was aware of every plane of him, the lithe grace that seemed to augment his limbs. "What brings you out at such an hour?"_

"_It's quiet," she replied. "I find I can escape for a moment, if the silence lasts long enough."_

"_Do you wish to run, da'vhenan?" he asked concerned, a hand falling upon her shoulder in a bid for her to turn about. She complied and stared up into his deep woodland eyes, his face free of any clan marking._

"_Why do you not bear vallaslin?" she asked and he chuckled._

"_Always seeking to evade the difficult the answers. Maneuver all you wish, da'vhenan, I shall not be deterred from my course."_

"_Would you hate me if I said yes?" she answered on a sigh, stepping away from him. A bed of monkshod beckoned to her, and she knelt low to smell the blossoms._

"_Hate is too simple an emotion," he replied, "it leaves little room for circumstance and truth. Perhaps you wonder, instead, if I would look upon you differently."_

"_Hate may be simple, but that won't stop a great many people from feeling it should I up and rabbit away," Evanthe countered closing her eyes. "They've made me holy, Solas. An avatar for a goddess, and I can't quite bring myself to play along."_

"_Then do not play at all." he simplified as he reached out, cupping his hand beneath her elbow and gently urging her to rise. "Your obligation does not extend to fanatical hysteria."_

"_I don't like that I have the obligation at all," she huffed. "The breech threatens all of Thedas, and I'll do what I have been tasked with but...I can't help but feel like the people I'm helping...when this is over, the oppression won't end."_

"_You're right," he replied. "It won't. It is the nature of living. For all we claim intelligence we are nothing but animals scratching at one another. Seeking to roll those below us belly up in subservience. Even the gods...no amount of power makes up for the base nature in all of us." His last words drew her attention, the syllables gently edged in sorrow. _

"_What is it?" she asked gently, reaching out to brush at his face. He turned at the last moment, a small remnant of a smile upon his face._

"_Forgive me. I am melancholy, it would seem. Here I came to offer you companionship in your midnight adventures, and yet I find myself engaging in sophistry. How abysmally self-involved of me. I shall go and leave you to the posies. I sure they are far more enjoyable company than I at present."_

"_Don't," she protested, catching him about the arm. "Please. I quite like your self-involvement. It gives me a break from my own." Solas smiled at that, laughing softly. Evanthe grinned slyly in response, urging him closer with a tug. "Besides, what if a rift were to open right in this very spot? You would leave me to battle it alone?"_

"_How very ungentlemanly of me, though I am certain you are more than capable of seeing to your own safety."_

"_Does not mean I don't enjoy the company, you are much preferred over spiders and worms."_

"_With such acclaim how can I help but accept?" Solas chuckled. "Though the creatures of the garden can be quite fearsome in their own way. You might prefer having an army of them at your disposal."_

"_No thank you," Evanthe said on a shudder. "Far too many legs and opportunities to crawl upon my skin."_

"_You are of the people and yet you flinch at nature?" The idea seemed to amuse the man to no end, as if her phobia were endearing and not, in her eyes, completely justified._

"_I do not fear nature," she replied hotly, "just spiders. And them I do not fear, either. I respect them. There is a great difference. Fear is running from that which frightens you, respect is stomping upon the loathsome thing until you are certain it's dead and cannot come back to crawl upon you once more. A hero's action, even; valiantly crushing my foes in battle as it were." _

"_Yes, quite heroic," he laughed, reaching out to brush a strand of her pale hair back, "the gods themselves do tremble." Evanthe sucked in a breath, painfully aware of how close he hand become. She could feel his hand resting just below the curve of her head, his thumb brushing the delicate and pointed line of her ear. With gentle fingertips he exerted just the barest amount of pressure and Evanthe shuddered, leaning into his hand even as she was drawn closer to him. The symphony of crickets seemed to grow louder as every breath that separated them slowly disappeared, until he hovered over her lips. Evanthe swallowed hard, eyes trembling closed, and leaned slightly forward, desperate to close that last bit of distance._

"_It appears matters are not as personal as one would think," she heard Cullen's voice offer on a whisper, the sound fanning out against her lips. Evanthe's eyes slammed open and she found herself staring not into woodland eyes of green, but hazel and all together human. "My but how fickle you are in your affections, herald," her commander chided before claiming her lips harshly with his own._

~oOo~

Evanthe sat bolt upright in bed on a gasp, her heart fair thundering out of her chest. Tentatively she raised a hand to her lips, as if she could perhaps feel the dreamed of kiss still upon them. Taking a shaky breath she struggled to calm down, to ease the tangled knot of desire, heartache, and memory that occupied her thoughts. The dream had been so vivid, such a perfect of image of a night best left forgotten. Everything but the end had been true to life, down to the minute detail of petals upon fingertips and the sound of the cricket's broken melody. For a dream to be so meticulously detailed, to ring so true to what had come before...there was but one explanation, and it infuriated her beyond measure.

Clenching her teeth she leaped from her bed, throwing the linens and furs aside with a mighty force. The light of the breech shadowed moon filtered dimly through her windows, casting the room in a low, unholy glow; a cloaking that matched her mood. Striding angrily to the door she fair ripped it from its hinges, only to be greeted by a weary and all together surprised man, his hand raised in the act of knocking.

"Herald!" he sputtered, eyes sliding from her face to her torso. When he paled she glanced down, only to immediately curse and close her arms tight about her. In her haste and anger she had forgotten that she wore naught but a shift of linen, soft and barely opaque from over use.

"Who are you and what ungodly purpose are you about in my chambers at this unmentionable hour?" she demanded.

"I am, Cesare, Herald," he replied, looking down at the floor most intently, as if the secrets to the gods and the world could be found in its splintered grain. "Skyhold's healer. I was told you wanted a full reporting of Lords Varric and Iron Bull's health once I completed my examination."

"And what of them?" she asked softly and with worry, all trace of her embarrassment forgotten.

"They are...stable, Herald."

"You speak as if that is not a good thing."

"It is the only good thing," he replied with a sigh, fingers rising to pinch at the bridge of his nose. "Herald, you are a mage...you know somewhat of healing, yes?"

"In theory," she supplied. "Mage I may be, but I am first and foremost Dalish, and we do not shackle and train our spellcasters in such a way as the shems do. Healing was never my path. I know the theory of the medicinal craft, but not the practice of it."

"Then you understand enough. As a healer I can seal a wound, smooth the skin, battle an infection as it rages through a man's veins. But I cannot remove that which is of the body. The structure as it were."

"Yes, the mechanics are widely known," Evanthe agreed with impatience.

"I have spent twelve hours systematically trying to erase any trace of red lyirum from their tissues and yet still the infection remains."

"That isn't possible," Evanthe argued. "Even if the advance of the infection was great, your ministrations should have cleared a part of it."

"And yet it hasn't. The red lyrium...it is a part of them. As much as muscle and bone, it is it's own tissue at this point and I fear removal would be a threat to their life." Evanthe choked upon hearing the news. She had been certain with all that had been done to those she cared for that her heart could not break any further. She had been wrong.

"Will it...can they..." she stumbled out, unable to complete the thought lest it make it all the more real.

"Eventually," Cesare supplied, following the trail of her thought. "Though it appears the spread has become all but stagnant. Having no longer been subjected to forced contact with the element the rate of infection has significantly slowed. I can not give you a number, Herald, but from what I can gather they may measure their lives in years and not months."

"And do they pose a danger to the rest of the inhabitants?" she asked quietly.

"I do believe the risk is low. Neither show evidence of crystals found above the skin, and as such pose little threat to others, though I would not be cavalier about interactions."

Evanthe let out a sigh, both of relief and despair. All things considered it could have been far worse; Varric and Iron Bull could have been lost to her long before she had the opportunity to do anything. But the fact remained that two men would die far before their time. Just another pair of casualties in Corypheus's war...and of Solas' ambition. The righteous anger from before came surging back with a vengeance and Evanthe felt the tightening of it in her shoulders.

"Thank you, Cesare, I shall look in on them in the morning," Evanthe replied. Cesare, relieved to be done, nodded in gratitude. She could see that the man was haggard, and sleep called unto him like a siren song. A twinge of pity hummed through her chest; it could not be easy to be the only healer of a dying rebellion.

When the healer had taken his leave, Evanthe quickly retreated to her room and hastily donned a robe, tying the cord off with an angry jerk. Slipping out of her rooms she soundlessly stormed through the halls, the force of her progress causing the torches on the walls to flicker and dance, casting her shadow upon the stones. Glancing out a window she saw the first reaching grasp of dawn claw at the horizon. It was nearly morning, and she _would_ see to Varric and Iron Bull.

But first she had a much less congenial visit in mind.

~oOo~

It was no surprise to her that he was awake, still kneeling in that infuriatingly clam manner. She supposed he would have had to have been awake to play her so. Evanthe swallowed a growl and barged into his cell, kneeling angrily to unlock the chains that bound him to the floor.

"Have you come to walk me to the executioner's block, da'vhenan?" Solas asked when she was working upon the final lock. Evanthe gave him no answer, simply hauled him upright and slammed him back into the cell's wall.

"Is it not enough to betray me in the waking world, but you must invade my dreams as well?" she demanded, a forearm pressed tight to his chest and murder in her eyes. "Execution would be too kind, indeed, for the likes of you."

"I know not of what you speak," he answered angrily, "accusations without merit do little to ensure truthful answers."

"Do not play coy," she cried, "it fits ill upon you."

"Speak plainly then," he shot back, "If coy fits ill upon me then hysteria hangs ill upon you."

"Stay out of my dreams, Solas," she snarled. "Is that plain enough?"

"What desire have I to invade your personal corner of the fade, when there are hundreds of far more interesting realms to explore?"

"I do not pretend to guess at your motivations," she replied, shoving him roughly before stepping away. "How can I when they lead to such chaos?"

"Whatever you are accusing me of, I had no part in," he answered, back still pressed tight to the wall. "If you were to enlighten me as to the cause of your visit-"

"So that I can live through the humiliation again?" she laughed in disbelief. "I think not, Solas."

"Then I shall have to infer based upon your rather cryptic rantings. Would you rather I guess? Recite a litany of all that I could have done to earn such a reaction from you?"

"Why should you hazard at guessing when you were the architect of it in the first place?" she snapped.

"Because guessing is all I have when there is no knowledge," he replied with just as much heat, striding over to crowd her. "I did not tamper with your mind, Evanthe. I may be guilty of a number of things but never that. If my visage crossed your path in the fade, it is not of my doing. Look, instead, to your own mind. You will find it can be villain enough all on its own."

"Why should I believe you?" she insisted. "You have shown me nothing but deceit I may once have believed your protestations, but no longer. From what I know of you, slipping beneath my mind and reminding me of something I once held dear in an effort to sway your cause is something I can easily see you doing."

"You know nothing of me," he replied low, stalking forward and forcing her back. "At one time, yes, I would have played such a trick. But that was...many years ago. This enemy you paint me does not exist. Nor, do I suspect, was the man you built up in your heart." Evanthe could retreat no further, her back bumping gently against the bars of the cell. Solas reached out, his hand wrapping tightly around the bar next to her head and stared intently into her eyes. She could not read the emotion trapped there. It seemed a strange blend of anger, regret, and a secret hovering on the edge of reveal. Evanthe swallowed hard, willing herself to lash out, but no words would come to her. "No matter how intimately, how long, or how shared an experience, we can never truly know another. There is always a part kept secret, held back; for if we were to see all of those we let close to us...the horror of the truth would be too much to bear." He dropped his head at that, eyes closed. Evanthe stiffened and leaned away as best she could, trying to avoid contact at any cost. "Hate me if you will. I have done much in my life that warrants it, but do not pretend to know me, da'vhenan. That is one crime I will not force upon you."

"You make no sense," she whispered, "you deflect and ramble philosophical in an effort to turn me from the topic at hand."

"I do no such thing. It is all connected, whether you can see it or not."

"Stay out of my mind Solas," she repeated.

"I will do my best," he replied, almost on a whisper, "but only as much as your psyche will allow. I do not come to your dreams, da'vhenan...rather they come to me."

"So you admit your guilt?"

"Hardly," he chuckled bitterly. "As I said, look to your own mind. If you dream of me, it is because your subconscious desires it. It requires no effort on my part."

"I desire nothing from you," she hissed.

"It appears your dream tells a different tale," he mocked. "Tell me, Evanthe, just what did you imagine of us in the wicked dark of night?"

"Not you alone," she replied sweetly, the syllables barbed in venom. "But Cullen too." Solas faltered at this, some of his control slipping, and Evanthe took it as a victory. "Perhaps you are right. After all, I cannot fathom why would you allow the commander to claim your prize...not when you were so close. Oh, forgive me, it was _he_ that grew close."

"I see that you seek to play upon my jealousy. Play away, da'vhenan. You will find I have none," he countered, appearing for all the world as if he cared naught about her revelation, but Evanthe could see that the act was just a bit off. She had hurt him. Whatever lay between them, the deceit and the guilt, it did not change the fact that she had meant something to him. And he to her.

"You swear you had nothing to do with my dreams?" she asked, voice a bit softer now.

"I swear it," he replied stiffly, "There is nothing there to interest me. To do so would require the matter to be personal, and as you've made abundantly clear, that is not the nature of our relationship. Not anymore."

"Very well," she murmured, turning to exit the cell.

"Am I not to be chained?" he called after her.

"Why should you when you are to assist Dorian with his task?" she countered, turning about to face him. His surprised expression greeted her, and she felt a chasm spring up between them, vast and impossible to close. "After all, there are no reasons beyond personal ones to not take advantage of your talents. And as you said...that is our nature no longer."

The words cut at both of them, though neither would admit it. Evanthe mourned the schism that had parted them, but it was a burden she would have to bear. She would need Solas in the weeks to come, much as it pained her. Dorian had been right; her reluctance to grant Solas a bit of freedom had been more about the hurt he had caused her than his actual crimes.

As she left the dungeon she repeated the mantra _"it is no longer personal"_ in her mind like a prayer. Hoping that with enough repetition a lie could transform into truth.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: A very happy new new year to you all!**

**FFnet must really hate me. I've tried posting this twice and yet it refuses to show up in the story, despite the heading saying there are 7 chapters. So if this is a double post, I am sorry, but I'm getting really frustrated. **

**ANYWHO...**

**So I honestly hated writing this chapter. It's been through many incarnations, and frankly I'm not happy with any of them. I was wanting to skip the whole thing but I felt that would be lazy, and bad story telling. So let us all read this and then pretend it never happened. I promise a much better chapter next time around.**

**Many innumerable thanks to Apollo Wings for her help with this. She gave me some direction that helped pull this away from being awful to being passable. **

**Also many tanks to Jraice for pointing out that Buttercup is actually Sera's nickname (which I totally knew but somehow forgot during the writing of this chapter.) I went back through and fixed it now.**

**Okay, enough with the self criticism.**

**A small note on healing magic. I found it odd that not a single mage in DA:I had a basic healing spell in their arsenal. Yes, knight enchanter has that one that heals the party, but no basic, generalized healing spell. Where as in DA2 and DAO it was a readily available option. So I just said "screw it. Solas can do basic healing." I figured of all those I kept alive in this world he would be the most appropriate.**

**R&R lovies. Your reviews keep me going, even when writing gets difficult. **

Evanthe hovered outside the servants quarters, trying to rein in her emotions. The sun was just now cresting over the horizon, officially marking it as morning. After her volatile conversation with Solas she had felt off kilter, over burdened. It was as if her emotions, tangled as they were, did not have enough space to live in her skin. She felt stretched out, anxious, and the need to scream until she was empty of everything was something she had to physically fight against. Even in the midst of chaos the man had an effect on her. Solas managed to bring out everything in her she had been fighting to keep inside. Her anger, her stress, and the lingering feelings that she was trying desperately to keep at bay; they all swarmed to the surface of her emotions when she was in his presence. Even as furious as she had been it had not escaped her notice that, for a fleeting moment, the two of them had been pressed close; nothing but a few scant inches and their shared sense of hurt keeping them separated Even now she could feel the presence of him along her torso and she grit her teeth against the sensation. It seemed as if she was to besieged by the phantom touches of men all morning long. Solas...Cullen...gods, Cullen! What was she to do with that? If Solas was right, and it was her own mind playing tricks with her desire, then what exactly did that mean? Shaking her head, Evanthe banished such thoughts from her mind. She didn't have the time or, frankly, the desire to untangle the stew of emotions churning inside her. There were far more dire situations to tend to than her confusing feelings for the men under her command.

Taking a steadying breath Evanthe drew herself up tall and knocked quietly upon the closed door. Bull's non-committal grunt came in reply, and she took it as an invitation to enter. The two men were perched upon narrow beds in varying states of relaxation. When they saw her Varric gave a warm smile that didn't quite meet his crimson cloaked eyes, and Bull...well, Bull did little more than glare.

"If it isn't Goldie," Varric welcomed warmly, causing Evanthe to raise one eyebrow in amusement.

"Goldie?" she echoed, laughter edging the word.

"On account of those gold flecked peepers you got ," the dwarf supplied. "It's not one of my better ones. Still kicking around ideas. I could always call you 'branches,' but it lacks poetry." Evanthe laughed, raising a hand to trace the vallaslin that framed her eyes. 'Branches' would have indeed been fitting, bringing attention to the pale green tattoo that sat upon her face like a delicate mask, but there was something decidedly off about the moniker.

"You could always call me Evanthe," she replied drolly crossing to sit next to him.

"Where's the fun in that?" Varric replied in mock horror. "Don't worry. I'll come up with something. What brings you to our little slice of home sweet home?" Before Evanthe could answer, Bull saved her the trouble, grumbling from his post across the room.

"Come on, Varric, you know. She's come to look in on the freaks." Bull said the words with all the malice in him, his deep baritone growl rumbling in his chest. "Shit, we should charge her two coppers for the show."

"Two coppers?" Varric snorted, "please. Where's your sense of business? We're worth a silver a piece, easy."

"I came to see how you were fairing," Evanthe answered, her voice filled with compassion. "Cesare came to see me-"

"And told you how truly fucked we are?" Bull muttered, pushing to his feet. "Trust me, boss, we already knew that."

"You aren't...fucked," Evanthe argued weakly, the curse coming awkwardly to her tongue. She was still unused to the colloquialisms of the greater world. "Cesare says-"

"I know what the mage says," he spat. "Don't need the lecture, not when I'm living the shit. It's a part of us. Can't be cut out."

"True, yes," Evanthe conceded, "the lyrium is a part of you. But it has stopped spreading. With any luck-"

"What makes you think we've got any luck, Goldie?" Varric chuckled. "Don't know if you've noticed, but shit's gotten weird since you've been gone."

"...you'll be able to lead somewhat normal lives," Evanthe continued pointedly, keeping her focus on Iron Bull.

"Normal lives?" Bull thundered. "What's normal about hearing some demonic choir echoing in your skull? It never fucking stops."

"It's true," Varric agreed, his voice showing the first trace of sorrow. "Bartrand used to talk about the song. Even after I got him away from the idol, he claimed he could still hear it. Now I know what he meant. It's...horrifyingly beautiful. Makes it hard not to go batshit after a while."

"Then we must...find a solution," Evanthe offered desperately. "Have Cesare concoct an antidote, there must be an antithesis to this. You just needs give me time."

"You can drop the optimism, boss," Bull grumbled. "Varric and I know the score."

"The score?" she echoed, not liking the implied meaning of the phrase.

"Not this again," Varric sighed, leaning back. "Look, Horns, I know you're feeling extra twitchy 'cause of our new accessories, but that doesn't mean you go runnin' off into the realm of stupid."

"Do you see another way out of this?" Bull demanded. "I'm goin' mad listen to this damn song. I can feel it growing inside me, claiming me. A demon would be better than this, and that's when you know it's gone way beyond bad."

"What are you talking about?" Evanthe protested rising to her feet.

"The Qun is pretty damn clear about possession, boss," Bull replied quietly. "It's not to be tolerated. Ever."

"The Qun?" Evanthe cried in exasperation. "Is that what this is about?"

"What did you think it was about?" Varric supplied, "Mood swings? Horns here has got it in his head to take the easy way out. Hasn't shut up about it since doc magic left."

"Bull, take a look around," she pleaded, "The Qun doesn't exist anymore. Neither does the Chantry or-or my clan, or a great number of strictures by which we lived our lives. Hard as it is, we can no longer cling to the rituals and faiths that defined us. This new world won't allow it."

"It's all I've got left, boss," Bull muttered quietly, pushing himself to stand upright. "It's that last tie. Don't ask me to sever it." Evanthe closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ward of the head ache that was quickly forming in the center of her brow. This was so much worse than she had envisioned. She had been prepared for illness, anger, even vague indifference, but what Bull had been hinting at was more than she could handle. The clan had strict edicts when it came to such a thing, taboos that had been indoctrinated into her since she could understand words. What Bull was suggesting went against everything she had ever been raised to believe in; and while she may be far from the obedient Dalish her clan desired her to be, she nonetheless was horrified that the Qunari would even be entertaining the idea.

"But you aren't possessed," she argued. "No demon has taken up residence in your flesh, Bull."

"Demon or lyrium, I'd say hearing voices in your head is a pretty clear sign that you're not alone with yourself," Varric offered and Evanthe spun upon him in outrage.

"Do not tell me you too are complicit in this madness!" she cried and Varric held his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

"Now, now, let's all calm down. Of course I'm not complicit, Goldie, but I don't think arguing semantics is the best way to win your argument, here."

"You're right," Evanthe muttered, turning back around to face Bull. She had been trying to apply logic to a situation that by it's very definition, lacked such a thing. If she was to have any hope at all of reaching Bull she had to approach this from a different angle, but gods only knew what that angle was. "Please take a moment to think upon this, Bull," she pleaded, racking her brain for some sort of sentiment of his to draw upon. "Have you spoken to your men? The Chargers? I'm sure they would have more than a few objections to-"

"The Chargers are gone, Boss," Bull laughed bitterly. "Hadn't you heard? Crem and my boys died protecting Haven when Corypheus burned it to the ground. Cullen says they went out like heroes, down to the last man. I'd be proud if I wasn't so fucking depressed about it."

"A heroes death, all of them," she murmured, chasing the edge of plan as she mulled over his words. She was sorry to hear of Crem's passing, indeed all of the Chargers deserved to me mourned, but in that moment Evanthe coldly realized she could use their passing to her advantage. The idea made her feel unclean, as if by being so calculating she had somehow been tainted, but she did not have the luxury of time on her side. She needed Iron Bull to fight, to hone his grief into revenge and wreak havoc upon her foes. If she needed to play upon the memory of his departed to achieve that, then so be it. She could only pray that it would work.

"And yet you wish to perish in a manner completely opposite," she offered at last, voice a bit harder than before. Bull frowned at that, put out at the suggestion. Evanthe swallowed hard and soldiered on, praying that she had chosen the right path. "The Chargers were valiant, dedicated, working for a common purpose at their leader's behest They believed in you without question, and when you were taken from their side, they continued to fight for you, for the path you chose. They were mighty...and you...you are weak. They deserved better than you."

"Sure you want to go down this road, boss?" Bull warned, his back tensing. It was almost as if his anger made him stand straighter, holding him up when his will could not.

"There is no road to traverse, Bull," she replied calmly. "There is no argument to be had. You say the Qun demands your life for something beyond the bounds of your control. A sacrifice that means less than nothing anymore. The men you trained, however? The Chargers gave their lives in exchange for others, in the hopes that wives and children may live when they could not. They were not bound by some theocratic code of honor, and yet theirs is the nobler sacrifice"

"You don't understand," Bull argued. "It's more complicated than-"

"It's not complicated at all," Evanthe interrupted with a shrug. "It is quite simple in fact. Should you choose to go down this path...then you are a coward, Bull. And blessings be that the men you once led went to their deaths ignorant of that fact."

"I'm not a coward," he growled in response, taking a menacing step towards her. Evanthe braced herself but refused to back down. She was tensed, prepared to take the blow she knew would eventually be coming. To be sure, it would hurt, but if rousing the man's anger and sense of pride was the key to pulling him from his lachrymose state than so be it.

"You play the part well enough," she answered calmly. "Hiding in the shadows and bemoaning your fate. I thought you were a leader of men, a Qunari warrior of legend. You have suffered a nightmare most would not be fit to bear and now, when you are free, you find it to be too much. The suffering is always the easiest, Bull, it's the healing that is hard. And it appears you've given up. You say you are not a coward, I say there is no other word to describe you."

"What do you want from me, Evanthe?" Bull demanded, the use of her real name underscoring the seriousness of the situation. "You want something, ask. Don't dance around with pretty words and your Dalish superiority." She had always been 'boss' to him, a moniker that was at once familiar and yet kept her at a safe distance. It had been the Qunari's way of drawing the line, allowing a bit of friendship while at the same time recognizing her station. Evanthe could not recall a single instance in which he had ever called her by name, and hearing the syllable flow low and dark over his tongue was deeply unsettling.

"I don't want anything from you," she answered. "Not as you are now. You're useless to me. I thought you a better man this, turns out I was wrong. The chargers too. Pity for them their faith was so misplaced." Evanthe turned to leave, silently praying that her gambit had worked. When she heard Bull roar in defiance and felt his meaty hands clutch at her and swing her hard against the wall, she knew it had. She could feel her stitches, so carefully placed by Cullen the night before, parting under the strain and she gasped at the sensation. She loathed the idea that she would have to get them replaced, but that was a worry for another time. Right now she had her hands full with a thoroughly pissed of Qunari, which was exactly what she wanted.

"Andraste's sweet freckled ass," Varric exclaimed, "go easy Bull!"

"How's this for useless?" Bull thundered, slamming her once more into the wall. Evanthe grunted, struggling to find her voice.

"It's a start," she panted at last. Bull snarled, his grip tightening in preparation to lash out yet again, but something in her face must have stayed his hand, because all at once his expression softened and he released her, stepping away with a lurch. Evanthe crumpled to the ground, unprepared for the sudden release. Wincing a bit, she struggled to her feet and stared placidly up at the man, no trace of disapproval or malice in her gaze.

"You didn't mean a word of that, did you?" he asked with a deadly calm.

"Of course not," she replied, with a sorrowful shake of her head. Varric cursed softly, but offered no opinion and Bull simply stared at her for what seemed an eternity At last he bared his teeth in what some would call a smile, others a challenge and let a dark chuckle escape from his throat.

"You conniving little-" he started, earning a smile form her.

"Maybe. But it worked, didn't it?" she argued and Bull grumbled something in Qunari, the jist of which was clear enough. Evanthe had a feeling he was bestowing upon her some less than flattering names, and as such declined to ask for a translation.

"That was stupid, Boss," he said after a while. "I could have killed you."

"Killing yourself over some bit of religious law would have been stupider," she countered as strode to meet him, forcing her head back to stare up into his battle scarred face. "If you want to die, I can't stop you," she offered quietly. "But I'd rather you die on the field of battle, surrounded by the bodies of your foes. That is the end I would wish for you, Bull, not this. Maybe it was stupid of me, but it was the only gambit I had. "

"I'm with Horns on this one, Goldie," Varric piped in. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to poke the bear?"

"No," she replied, still staring up at Bull, "she told me to shoot it. Or would have if I'd been a hunter."

"You've got spine, Boss," Bull muttered, stepping away from her, "I'll give you that."

"Are you going to be all right?" she asked gently.

"For now," he answered, settling back onto his bed. "You pissed me off enough that I just want to prove you wrong. Doesn't matter if you meant it."

"Good," she replied straightening a bit and making her way to the door. "Then I want you on the practice field in two hours. You're joining in on drills."

"Sure that's a good idea?" Varric answered. "We aren't exactly normal anymore. Being around other people-"

"Will be good for you," she answered. "I won't have you isolated, not when there is little to no risk. I need every man I can get to bolster our forces, and that includes you two. The men need to get used to you, and you need to distract yourselves from...the song. It may not ever go away, but you can learn to tune it out. Training is the first step towards that."

"And what exactly are we training for?" Varric asked as he swung his legs around to dangle off the bed. "Our eventual, yet heroic, demise?"

"In two weeks time I'll be heading an expedition into the deep roads-"

"And there's a statement that always leads to goods things," Varric muttered with a eye roll

"To rescue King Alistair and Harlow Tabris," Evanthe continued. "I'll need people I can trust to accompany me...or stay behind. I am loathe to leave Skyhold at a disadvantage."

"Of course," the dwarf exclaimed cheerfully, "The world's gone to hell on the back of a halla and you decide to take a holiday with the darkspawn. Because shit wasn't complicated enough."

"Complicated or not, these are my orders. Are the two of you prepared to follow them?"

"Sure you want a weapon in my hands, Boss?" Bull grunted, "I'm still pretty pissed at you."

"Pity for you that I'll be paired with Cullen," she replied dryly. "But feel free to imagine my face on one of the practice dummies."

"In that case, you'll have to make a new one by the time I'm done."

"So long as it keeps you here, I'll make you a thousand," she answered with a smile. "Eat a decent breakfast, gentlemen. I expect you on the field by ten bells."

~oOo~

Evanthe was too off kilter to eat, and so she roamed about Skyhold's halls, familiarizing herself with its secrets. Not for the first time she was struck by how much the fortress was in disrepair. The place was massive, but every corner bore crumbling stone, piles of debris, and holes that allowed the elements to filter in without objection. There was so much to be done to bring it back to its former glory, and yet, it remained impressive nonetheless. Skyhold, for all that it was a crumbling fortress, had a stark kind of beauty about it. Evanthe could see what the great walls had once been, the remnants of tenants past still lingering in the halls. A banner here, a bit of stained glass there. It was a patchwork of cultures and kingdoms woven together with the stitch mark of battle scars and siege marks. And the Inquisition was part of that now. Idly Evanthe wondered what the next inhabitants would make of the place. If they would look upon the golden eye of the Inquisition and think it just another artifact to be found in the fortress, or if they would remember what it had once meant. The thought was at once comforting and disturbing One one hand it was humbling to be reminded that no matter how awful current circumstances were they would all, eventually, be nothing but a bit of history. A set of dates and names made important only by how they related to what came after. On the other...to think that in the grand scheme of time what she accomplished here could end up reduced to nothing more than a fraying tapestry hung on a stone wall was nearly defeating in its futility.

Such thoughts occupied her mind as she stared up at a chipped and sun-faded mosaic that took up part of an atrium's wall. She was so absorbed in piecing together the picture before her that she did not hear the approaching sound of footsteps that heralded an interruption to her musing.

"Enjoying the artwork?" Cullen asked from right behind her, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin.

"Dread wolf curse you!" she cried, clasping her hands to her chest. "Don't do that!" Cullen laughed, the sound so joyous and easy that it seemed out of place. It was enough to have Evanthe forgetting her surprise and she smiled, relaxing her arms.

"I thought the Dalish were supposed to have keen hearing," Cullen admonished lightly, crossing his arms against his chest.

"Yes, well, I was never a very good Dalish," she replied, turning back to study the mosaic once again.

"I wasn't aware there was a standard of rating for such a thing."

"There is nothing but," she snorted, eyes tracing a faded piece of tile. "It's one giant competition, from which hunter brings back the most pelts to which elder can recount the most of our forgotten history. The People are constantly chasing a culture that no longer exists, forcing the pieces together in some misguided attempt at remembrance, but it's almost as if a tally is being kept somewhere, marking each one of our accomplishments and downfalls against some unknown standard."

"Sounds a bit like the templars," Cullen mused as he stepped into place beside her. "Depending on who your knight captain was there was an almost suffocating amount of pressure to be the model soldier. I saw templars take the strictest of vows, eschewing anything that could be considered less than holy, all in an effort to gain ground with their superiors. I was very nearly one of them. The pressure to be perfect is a heady thing."

"And yet here you are, far away from the Chantry, chatting up a mage," she remarked wryly, the edges of her mouth curling into a grin. "My but how the perfect have fallen."

"That you think I was anywhere close to perfect is a compliment in and of itself," he chuckled. "And I could say the same of you, Herald. Here you are engaging with a shem. Quite scandalous behavior."

"Ah yes, but my people merely distrust humans. Your kind has a tendency to lock mages up and forget about the key."

"Yes, well, fortunately for you I left my apostate hunting days far behind me."

"As if you could possibly catch me were that not the case," she boasted, turning to face him with a mock sense of outrage.

"Says the woman whom I snuck up upon not five minutes before," he countered with a grin. "You'd be hardly a challenge at all."

"Maybe not to catch," she shot back, unable to keep the smile from her face "but to keep is another matter entirely. I don't take lightly to being held down, commander. Something you'd do well to remember."

"A warning I shall take to heart should ever the occasion arise," he countered, voice gone a bit lower in pitch. Somewhere in the midst of their conversation the tone with which they spoke had changed. Become lighter and yet all the more charged. Evanthe could not pinpoint just when their words had crossed from friendly to flirtatious, but she felt it now, and she blushed, embarrassed by her involvement.

"Bull and Varric will be joining us in the practice yard," she blurted out in an effort to change the subject. Cullen gave her a small smile before nodding, a silent acceding to her wishes.

"That is good," he replied, "though I do worry about the lyrium. We've battled against our fair share of red templars since Corypheus took power...I've seen what the lyrium can do to a man, and none of it pleasant But it does afford those affected some rather unique skills."

"Skills I'm hoping we can eventually put to use," Evanthe muttered, spinning out all the ways in which they could use the tragedy to their advantage. "I worry about them as well, though not for the same reasons."

"And why do you worry?"

"Everything is so different, Cullen," she sighed as she turned away, rubbing a hand across her face in agitation. "Not just the world but the people. I knew this was going to be...difficult. But every moment I spend here it becomes more and more apparent that difficult is not nearly an adequate enough word. Bad enough the sky split in two and the land bleeds, but I find that such things are not the worst casualty of all this."

"What is?" he asked quietly, placing a hand upon her shoulder in comfort. Evanthe sighed and turned around to face him, staring up into his at once familiar and yet much changed face.

"You are." Cullen blinked at that, clearly not expecting such an answer. "Leliana too. Varric, Bull...even Solas...all of you are much changed in not just body but mind and I find that...disquieting. All of this would, perhaps, be more easy to bear if but one of you managed to hold on to who I thought you were. Instead I find myself having to learn each one of you anew, and I never know when I'm going to tread too close to something best left unsaid. You all have psychic scars that run deep, and I find that I can not effectively navigate them. You're all strangers to me...each and everyone. It makes this all quite...lonely." She felt small and wrung out by the time she was done. A part of her felt selfish for daring to feel such a way. These people had suffered unimaginable pain for over a year, and here she was wishing they could just forget it all and go back to who she thought they were. It was a juvenile and useless desire, but it still pricked at her nonetheless. Living in this new reality was painful for so many reasons, but she of all people had no right to complain, not when she had been absent for so long.

"You probably think I'm a selfish elvhen'alas for saying all that," Evanthe muttered when Cullen had not spoken for quite some time. "I'm sorry. I did not mean-"

"I don't think you're selfish," he rushed to interject. "Nor do I think you a...elvhen'alas, despite not knowing the meaning. I-"

"Well if it isn't our fearless leader!" Dorian chirped as he rounded the corner of the hall, interrupting the pair once again. Evanthe, grateful for the distraction, turned to greet the man, an apology for her earlier behavior readied on her tongue It died stillborn when she saw the companions that accompanied him. Solas, in freshly laundered clothes stood stoically beside the Tevinter mage, his expression carefully blank of any emotion. Cole hovered behind the two, his body tense as if prepared to flee at the slightest provocation. Evanthe was eager to speak with Cole, wanting to learn more of the boy, but she fiercely wished he had been in better company. In fact, Evanthe was now painfully aware that both Cullen and Solas occupied the same space, and memories of her dream from the night before came rushing back. If only the ground would crack open and swallow her whole, she thought, it would perhaps make this encounter slightly more bearable.

"Dorian, Cole," she croaked out, skipping over the elf entirely. "How are you?"

"Pretend not to see. Blank. Must not be affected. But she can still feel his body against hers. Lips that aren't his but _his. _Dreaming and yet no one's fault but her own. She desires both. It won't go away and she remembers more than she wants to," Cole rambled, plucking her thoughts from her head much to Evanthe's mortification. When he had finished he turned those soulful eyes upon her, clear and lucid and answered her initial inquiry. "I am well."

"Sounds like someone's having quite the scandalous line of thought," Dorian piped in with a grin. "How marvelous." Evanthe felt her face heat, and she quickly glanced away from the boy, only to have her eyes land upon Solas, who had infuriatingly quirked an eyebrow upwards in amusement.

"What is the boy on about?" Cullen asked in confusion, glancing between her and Cole.

"It's nothing," Evanthe insisted, shaking her head. "Really."

"But you suffer," Cole pressed. "It hurts to keep thoughts knotted away. The more you try the more they come undone. Constantly cutting away at the thread but it grows back like weeds, demanding to be acknowledged You have to stop tangling them up, they want to be heard."

"Yes, Cole," Evanthe said steadily, the effort to remain calm a herculean task, "but we must work on your sense of privacy. Not all thoughts are to be shared with the world."

"But the world shares them with me," the boy countered, confusion evident in his voice.

"Even so, Cole," Solas interjected, "not everyone is prepared to face their thoughts head on. Much less with an audience in attendance." Evanthe irrationally hated that he was helping. It made her feel petulant, irritated. It would have been so much simpler if he had gloated, making some snide comment about her hidden feelings, but no...he had to help rectify the situation, which was simply infuriating.

"Like how you keep your other self pushed down, his thoughts buried under grief and regret?"

"No, Cole," Solas replied softly, his already pale skin blanching out upon hearing the boys words. "That is different and you must not speak of it." Evanthe frowned, having somehow found herself lost in the conversation. She opened her mouth, eager to have Cole clarify his cryptic statement, but the boy cut her off, still focused on his bungled attempt at social interaction.

"I'll start over," Cole offered, quickly striding to stand before her. "I'll make her forget and then she won't feel so red. Why does her skin match her thoughts?"

"Because our fair herald is blushing, my dear boy," Dorian supplied, still endlessly amused by the situation. "And such a becoming flush it is. I can understand why a man might want to...what was it? _Press_ himself against her?"

"It's alright, Cole," Evanthe quickly interjected in a desperate attempt to change the subject. "I'm quite fine. You don't need to make me forget."

"But I did it wrong," he argued.

"You made a mistake, nothing more. Hardly worth altering my mind at all," she reassured him with a smile. "I see you've made yourself known. Making friends?"

"Solas has always been my friend," Cole muttered. "He understood without needing the words."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Evanthe asked in a deceptively light tone. "And Dorian? Is he playing nice?"

"I'm always nice," Dorian replied affronted, "even when I'm not. Worry not, mistress mine, the boy is in good company. We shant corrupt him, I give you my word."

"Why is he in your company at all?" Evanthe asked.

"I want to help," Cole answered. "Dorian says it used to be better before. Quieter. And that it can be again. He told me I could be a part of that."

"Cole is a spirit, Evanthe," Solas murmured quietly, "a resident of the fade. Would it not be beneficial to have his aid in this?"

"A spirit?" Cullen echoed, his voice wary. Cole shrank back at bit upon hearing the tone, as if putting distance between himself and the templar would soothe the words.

"So that's what you are," Evanthe murmured, turning the thought over in her head. "I had wondered."

"You knew there was a spirit in residence and you didn't see fit to inform the rest of us?" her commander demanded, and Evanthe clenched her teeth at his tone.

"I suspected, nothing more," she replied tightly, "not that it matters. Your fears are misplaced, commander. Cole means us no harm."

"Spirit is often just another word for demon," Cullen argued, shooting a reproachful glare to the boy in question.

"I'm not a demon," Cole protested quietly, the words automatic as if he had been forced to recite them countless times.

"He's not," Solas chimed in. "Demons posses the weak, feeding upon a host until there is nothing left but husk. Cole is different; a spirit in human form. He is quite the remarkable aberration. I have not seen his like in...quite some time."

"Herald-" Cullen began.

"Evanthe," she reminded him for the hundredth time.

"I am not comfortable with this," he continued. "This boy presents a very real threat-"

"This _boy,_" she retorted, moving over to stand protectively in from of Cole, "is responsible for your life, commander. Yours and countless others. It was he that gave warning of Corypheus attack, allowing you to flee as best you could. He has been here all along, and if he truly meant you harm he could have murdered you all in your beds a thousand times over. Cole is not a danger, Cullen."

"That is a matter of opinion."

"And in this, mine is the only one that matters," Evanthe countered, her tone brooking no refusal. Cullen spared one more wither glance for Cole before tightly bowing, his hazel eyes filled with displeasure.

"I shall see you on the field, Evanthe," he said formally before angrily taking his leave.

"I'm sorry," Cole murmured from over her shoulder. "It's hard for people to understand. It's why forgetting is better. I could follow him, make him not remember."

"No, Cole," Evanthe soothed, turning to face the boy. "His aversion to your presence is a problem only for him. Do not let his anger frighten you. Given time he, and anyone else foolish enough to not see your good intentions, will eventually warm to the idea of your presence. As I said before, so long as Skyhold is under my command there will be a place for you in its walls."

"But he's angry at you," Cole argued, staring after Cullen's retreating form.

"I know," she sighed, "I suppose that does not bode well for our training session."

"Afraid the commander is going to play a bit rough?" Dorian asked, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

"Afraid he won't be playing at all," Evanthe replied, repressing a grin at the thinly veiled double entendre. "I have a feeling I'll be covered in more bumps and bruises before the day is out."

"Then you must let Solas tend to them when you are finished," Dorian offered innocently, brushing past her with nonchalance. "The man is quite brilliant with medicinal craft. Or so I've been told." Evanthe could not stop herself from glancing at the man in question, her heart hammering off rhythm. Solas, to his credit, look just as unsettled by the suggestion, though he was trying to hide it behind that damn infuriating wall of indifference.

"Should you need it, da'vehanan," he offered quietly after a time, "I would be...happy to provide your with care."

"I'll take my chances with Cullen," she replied stiffly, walking away with all the pride she could muster. It was only when she had gone a good twenty paces did she realize that her words could very well have meant something beyond stitches and salves.


	8. Chapter 8 (for real this time)

**A/N: Hello lovies. Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed/faved/followed. I am blown away by the support for this story. I try to reply to every review, but I fear I may have missed a few. If I have, I apologize deeply, and please know that I love that you take the time to read my words.**

**So Ffnet seems to be working again (fingers crossed!). Hopefully this go around my chapters and followers wont magically disappear!**

**Thanks for sticking with me through the last chapter. I'm my own worst critic and it was nice to hear that not everyone thought it as dreadful as I did. **

**R&R lovies! Reviews are my drug and I can't get enough!**

"Why do you always get to be father? I'm sick of being the archdemon," the boy whined, kicking a foot into the dirt.

"Because I'm older," his brother replied.

"Are not! We're twins!"

"Are so! Mother says I'm older by two minutes!"

"Boys," Elissa called out, her voice a blend of amused tolerance and firm reproach. "Do play nice." The children muttered less than sincere sounding apologies and the queen suppressed a grin. "Duncan, you must take turns. It's your brother's turn to play hero."

It was an unusually warm day at Skyhold and Evanthe was enjoying the refreshing turn of climate alongside Elissa Cousland and her twin boys. The two women were perched upon deep wooden chairs in the fortress' garden, a table strewn with cards and half eaten refreshments standing between them. When the queen had invited Evanthe to join her in her relaxation she had initially balked, thinking that there were far more important matters she should be attending to, but the woman was insistent, evading the herald's every excuse with logic and bribery. And so Evanthe found herself teaching elven card games to royalty and watching two young princes happily reenact history.

She had been at Skyhold for over a week now and found herself slowly settling in to a routine. Each day brought with it new headaches and problems, the least of which involved sending missives to the few resistant enclaves left in the land. It amazed her that in the midst of hell politics still played a vital role, and Evanthe missed Josephine with every breath in her body. Leliana tried her best to help her wade through the steps of favors for favor, but she lacked the finesse her Antivan friend had possessed in spades. Still, the two women, assisted every now and then by the queen, would wade through letters and schemes, each seeking to bolster their strength with any tool available to them. It was a slow frustrating process and more than once Evanthe had stormed out of her war room, angry beyond all reckoning with some rebellion leader's sense of self importance.

When not dealing with the headache of politics, Evanthe would spend much of her time with a sword clenched tightly in her hands. Every morning she would join Cullen and her troops in the practice yard and spend hours learning how to battle with a blade. It was a discipline so unlike magic that she often grew frustrated with her lack of progress. Cullen continually assured her that she was doing remarkably well given the circumstances and that, like any skill, it would take time to master. None of which helped her when she found herself flat on her back in the dirt, her commander's sword hovering over her throat for what felt like the thousandth time. That too was a routine in and of itself. The two would spar, Cullen graceful and controlled, Evanthe awkward and rushed. Blades would clang together, feet slipping against the ground to find purchase, and then suddenly Evanthe would find herself staring skywards, trying to relearn how to breathe. Cullen, to his credit, never preened about his endless victories against her, simply helped her to her feet with a gentle hand and bit of advice. The time spent together in training had done wonders for their relationship. There was a familiarity that had been lacking, an ease with which they spoke to one another. To be sure there were still disagreements; Cullen was slow to trust anything that involved magic or the fade, and Evanthe could be blunt in her reasoning to the point of rudeness. And yet the two managed to spin a friendship from the discord, eliciting laughter and smiles from one another with ease. Perhaps too much ease, if Evanthe stopped to think on it long. True, there was a friendship between her and the commander, but there was always something else hovering on the edge of their interactions, a keen awareness of the other to the point of absurdity. It did not escape her notice that the two often found themselves engaging in less than platonic banter. Evanthe could not even pinpoint how such conversations would begin, so subtle was the shift from commander to friend to...something else. One moment she would be speaking with him of trivial matters and the next she would find herself a fraction closer, voice gone a bit throaty and every word spoken as if it had a double meaning. Such situations never lasted long, for as soon as Evanthe was aware she would change the subject, put distance between them and act as if nothing was out of place. It was a less than convincing act but her commander never called her on her retreat, simply played along as if nothing were amiss, a small grin on his lips the only sign he was amused by the situation.

It did not help matters that her dreams were becoming infuriatingly vivid as the nights wore on. When not plagued by her commander, she was plagued by Solas, or worse yet, a faceless Corypheus mocking her in the darkness. She could not decide which she loathed more; the dreams of men or the dreams of would be gods. It mattered little, for no matter the intruder, she would wake each night gasping for air, her mind tangled and her body tensed. She spoke to no one of the dreams, but she had a sneaking suspicion that Solas knew exactly what she suffered in the cold dark of night.

For her part she saw little of her fellow elf, due mostly to her fervent avoidance of the man. Being in Solas' presence brought up too many emotions she was unprepared to deal with, and as such she sought to put incredible amounts of distance between the two. But Skyhold was only so vast, and eventually the two would cross paths leading to tense and awkward encounters. Evanthe would try to remain cold and indifferent, but without fail Solas would remark upon something that would rouse her anger or play upon her sentiment and she would storm off, fair running to be free of him. It wasn't so much that she was angry with the man, though that was very much a part of it. No, it was that she was afraid of what would come from being in his presence for any prolonged stretch of time. Despite his betrayal, a part of her still yearned for him, cried out for the contact of his hand on hers or her endearment upon his lips. More than once she had caught herself softening towards him, speaking to him with the practiced ease of someone who had once cared a great deal for his person. Such instances were made all the worse by his reaction to them. The smooth and calculating wall he had erected between them would begin to crumble, giving her a glimpse of a man who ached just as fiercely as she. It was so hard to turn her back upon him in those moments when his eyes would seem to stare straight into the heart of her. For all that lay between them it did not erase the fact that Solas had, for a time, been one of the few who had truly understood her. He had somehow seen the disconnect she had felt from her clan, a feeling that had plagued her all her life, and urged her to embrace it, never once admonishing her for such treasonous thoughts. Even now, knowing his crimes, she had been grateful for that acceptance and it made it hard to hate him, though she tried most fiercely.

As for the rest of her companions, they too seemed to settle into Skyhold with little hardship. Leliana continued to heal with everyday that passed, Cesare over seeing her care with precise dedication. Cole would haunt the many pathways of the fortress, chasing down stray thoughts and offering comfort to those he could. He still had the habit of making those he helped forget, but upon Evanthe's urging he had begun to let more people see him for a time, testing the waters of their acceptance.

Varric and Bull adjusted a bit more everyday to their altered state of living. True to his word Bull had massacred more than a few practice dummies, earning him a fearsome reputation amongst the soldiers. He seemed to relish this, playing the part of the wicked Qunari with gusto, the image broken only by the odd grin of amusement. Varric was much as he'd always been; easy going, quick with a joke, and bestowing nicknames upon everyone he happened across. In the last seven days Evanthe had been named Slim, Branches, Dales, and Bruiser, on account of one very intense black eye she had suffered during training, but none of them stuck. When in doubt he always returned to Goldie, a name she was slowly but surely coming to like. And yet, despite his outwardly jovial state, Evanthe could tell that something pained the dwarf. She would catch him singing low beneath his breath when he thought no one was looking, harmonizing and humming along with the song that echoed through his skull. It was worrisome but when pressed Varric would simply smile and tell her off with a joke, unwilling to discuss it in even the slightest way.

So passed a week in Skyhold, and Evanthe felt no more settled or comfortable in her life than when she had arrived. The constant pulse of green in the sky made it hard for her to pretend that the world was anywhere close to normal, and normal was something she found she missed most passionately. It was why, in the end, she had accepted Elissa's invitation to join her in the garden. The whole thing was as close to some semblance of normalcy as she would find in this world, and after a few stiff moments she had found herself relaxing and simply enjoying the moment.

"But I don't want to be the archdemon," Duncan whined, pleading with his mother to change her mind.

"Then you must find some other game to play," Elissa countered. "For you've had your turn playing out your father's heroic deeds, and it is Lucas' turn to do so."

"I know," Lucas cried out, yanking upon his brother's arm. "Kieran can be the archdemon!"

"Then who will I be?" Duncan asked in confusion.

"You can be uncle Zevran," Lucas answered with a shrug before running off to gather their absent playmate. Elissa watched him go with an expression of pure adoration up her face. It made her all the more lovely, her honey skin fair glowing with motherly pride.

"Your boys are quite spirited," Evanthe murmured once Lucas had returned, a boy a few years his senior following behind. The three quickly fell into their play, running about in carefully constructed chaos as they battled one another to dramatic and lengthy deaths. For all that they had argued about who was the villain in their drama, it seemed to matter little, as did history it would appear, and Evanthe giggled upon seeing "King Alistair" run through "Uncle Zevran" with a wooden sword.

"They are, aren't they?" the queen replied proudly. "They are exhausting, to be sure, but in the best possible way. They are much like their father in that, possessed of boundless energy and rash action. Sometimes I wonder if any part of me beyond their coloring managed to make its way inside them, and then they argue with me and I have my answer." Upon hearing the queen mention coloring Evanthe could not help but turn an assessing eye upon the children. It was true that they both bore the lightly tanned skin of their mother, and each held a mirror image of her deep, dark, fathomless eyes. But there was a lightness to their hair that spoke of a different parentage, and a bone structure that was far less delicate than that of the queen's. When she compared the twins with their playmate, the elder boy name Kieran, she was shocked to discover that same bone structure in the child's pale face.

"Is he your as well, your majesty?" She inquired and was surprised to find the Queen tense at the question, her countenance turning chilly and withdrawn.

"No," she replied tightly, "he is not." Evanthe could tell that she had over stepped some unspoken bound of propriety, and she quickly looked away. In her clan children gotten on the wrong side of the blanket, as it were, was a common practice. To be sure the bonds between mates were everlasting and sacred, but that is not to say that indiscretions never happened. Duty to the clan was above all when it came to import, and as such any child born to the people was welcomed with joyous tidings, dubious parentage or not. Evanthe was certain that the pale, dark haired boy was kin to the Queen's sons, but it seemed as if the acknowledgment of such a thing carried a vastly different weight for the shems than it did for her people.

"How are the boys adjusting?" she asked eventually, pretending for all the world that naught was amiss. Elissa relaxed at her inquiry, grateful for the change in topic, and adjusted herself slightly in her chair.

"As well as can be expected with all that has happened," Elissa replied, letting out a weary sigh. "They are young enough that they can still believe in everything working out for the best. Children have an infinite capacity for believing in the good of the world. They miss their father something fierce, and their life in Denerim. But despite the rather abrupt changes, they retain their happiness."

"That is good," Evanthe murmured, watching as the boys argued a bit over the fairness of a play tactic.

"Is it?" Elissa questioned. "Duncan and Lucas are but five years old, Herald. They should be chasing one another under a clear blue sky and training to be knights and kings. Instead they play at war under a veil of the demonic, training for the day when they will take up blades to defend their long lost kingdom. I fail to see any part of this that is good."

"You fear for their safety," Evanthe murmured, hearing the weight of a thousand worries in the queen's voice.

"Of course I do, what mother wouldn't?" Elissa replied with a shake of her head. "But I fear for their innocence more."

"In my clan we begin training for our life's path at their age, some even younger," Evanthe offered quietly. "From the time that we can hold a blade or summon flame we are thrust into what our fate demands of us. This is our way; to train and grow into what the the clan needs of us. What is unsettling to you is natural and expected to me."

"My children are not Dalish," Elissa countered firmly.

"I am aware of that, your majesty," Evanthe replied dryly. "I merely mention it to offer perspective. Perhaps you see them as too young to embrace what the world asks of them, but I see two fine, strong boys from an impressive lineage, each with a destiny awaiting them. Perhaps they are young, but we all must grow up someday, and it is best to meet the hurt of adulthood as best prepared as we can. Your children were made for great things, regardless of the world in which we find ourselves. They may be but five years, but it is never to early to begin growing into who we are meant to be."

"They will always be too young to me," Elissa murmured. "No matter how they grow they will forever be the squalling infants I held close to my chest, whispering lullabies in the settled darkness of the early morning."

"Kieran," a voice echoed out into the garden, bringing a halt to the childrens' play. A moment later a stunning and all together dangerous looking woman stepped into the garden, her amber eyes honing in upon the elder boy. "Come along. You have tarried long enough with your companions. Tis time for your lessons."

"Coming mother," the child replied dutifully. He gave a quick bow to the young princes before dashing off to join his mother, who watched him with prideful, protective eyes. As the two turned to take their leave, the woman's gaze fell upon Evanthe and time seemed to slow for a moment. Try as she might, Evanthe could not look away. There was something about the woman that demanded her attention, a power that pulsed around her with every measured breath. Whoever she was, Evanthe knew without hesitation that this was not a woman to be trifled with.

"Who is that?" Evanthe inquired watching as the pair disappeared back into Skyhold.

"Lady Morrigan," Elissa replied. "Former adviser to Empress Celene."

"The Empress kept a mage at court?"

"Yes. Not that it did Celene much good."

"She's powerful," Evanthe murmured offhandedly, more to herself than anything else.

"I do not like her," Elissa replied tightly. "Be wary of her Herald The woman has secrets, not all of which are worth knowing." Evanthe had nothing to say to that, but she could not wrench her gaze from where Morrigan and her son had departed. Regardless of the queen's feelings, she had a sneaking suspicion that Morrigan would have an integral part to play in what she was trying to accomplish.

"Mother, Mother!" Duncan called out, racing up to the pair, his brother following close behind. "May we go watch the mages and soldiers train?"

"Yes, please!" Lucas begged.

"You may not," Elissa replied gently. "Those men are about serious work and I won't have you distracting them with your endless questions."

"But we want to see magic," Lucas whined.

"I can show you magic," Evanthe offered, glancing over at the queen. "That is, if it is alright with your mother." The boys whipped their heads around so fast to gaze at their mother it was a wonder they did not hurt themselves. Elissa sighed theatrically but was hard pressed to keep the smile from her face.

"Very well," she answered and the boys responded with joyful whoops. Evanthe grinned and slid from her chair, landing softly upon her knees. She motioned for the boys to join her, turning them about until they were facing into the garden.

"Tell me," she whispered as she raised her hand, "do you like dragons?" The twins nodded emphatically, eyes glued to the garden, eager to see just what she could show them. Evanthe took a deep centering breath and sent out the faintest tingle of her magic, directing it towards a bush that had begun to bloom with pale blue flowers. At first nothing happened, earning her a few impatient protests from her audience, but slowly, each petal from the bush began to float upwards, carried there on a soft current of air. Faster and faster more blossoms joined in, swirling about and coalescing into an unknown shape, until, at last, a great blue dragon hovered over the ground, its body made up of gently quivering petals. The boys let out squeal of happiness and Evanthe smiled, raising her other hand to complete the illusion. When a burst of fire spewed forth from the flower dragon's mouth the twins gasped before applauding madly, demanding that she do it again and again.

"I was unaware Skyhold boasted a dragon," her commander's voice commented from behind them.

"Cullen!" the children cried, Evanthe and her tricks completely forgotten. Duncan and Lucas rushed to intercept the commander, peppering him with questions and tidbits about their day. Evanthe smiled and gently let go of her power, allowing the once mighty dragon to dissolve into a shower of periwinkle petals falling upon the ground.

"Did you bring us anything?" Lucas asked excitedly as the man lazily strode over to join them.

"Lucas!" His mother chided. "It is impolite to demand presents from people."

"It is my fault, your majesty," Cullen replied with a laugh. "I set the precedent, after all." Evanthe watched as he reached behind his back, withdrawing two small lumps of something she had never thought to find in this world.

"Chocolate!" Duncan cried, reaching greedily out to steal his share.

"Brilliant!" Lucas chimed in, grabbing at his own.

"Now, now," Cullen admonished as the boys were just about to stuff the sweets into their mouths. "A gentleman shares with his lady." Instantly the twins sobered, obeying without thought, and began to break off small chunks from their bounty. With a regal and serious air they presented the small bits to their mother, each bowing deep. Elissa received them with all the grace and royal bearing she could muster, but Evanthe could see that the woman was close to dissolving into fits of laughter. When it was done they looked to Cullen for confirmation. The man nodded, earning a smile from the boys before they ran off to savor their gift.

"You spoil them," Elissa chided, though the words were said without any true heat.

"Where on earth did you find chocolate?" Evanthe inquired, baffled. That was the far more interesting topic as far as she was concerned. Luxuries such as sweets were scarce in this future, the time and effort required to create such things having been put to far more practical uses.

"There was a bit tucked away in the kitchens," Cullen replied, reaching behind him once more. "And I may spoil them, you're majesty, but they are not the only ones." He punctuated this statement by presenting the Queen with her own lump of chocolate, larger than those given to the boys. Elissa laughed and accepted the gift with a gracious nod. Evanthe watched the woman daintily nibble upon her gift with scarce disguised longing. She could practically taste the slightly chalky texture, imagining how it would melt upon her tongue. Chocolate had been a rare treat when she lived with the clan, available only when the elders would deign to trade with the few shem merchants who ventured to their part of the forest. Evanthe use to hoard as much as she could, rationing the confection out so as to better prolong her enjoyment.

Cullen cleared his throat pointedly, and Evanthe turned, only to find the commander's hand out stretched in offering, her own bit of sweet resting in his palm. Evanthe gaped reaching out to grab at the morsel, but she hesitated, her fingers lightly hovering over Cullen's hand. Glancing slowly upward she met her commander's stare, and was surprised to find a bit of uncertainty in his gaze, as if he were afraid she would reject his gift. It was important to him that she she found value in this bit of frippery, special in a way that it rightly shouldn't be. Evanthe swallowed hard and slowly took the chocolate, blushing as her hand rasped over his. Cullen smiled softly before she could look away, satisfaction and fondness lingering in his gaze.

"Cullen!" Duncan demanded, breaking the spell that had woven between them. Evanthe quickly turned, the bit of chocolate clutch tightly in her hand. She could feel the heat of her skin melting it down, leaving a bit of sticky sweet coating upon her flesh. She hurried to place it upon the table, loathe to ruin it more than she had. Making sure her back was to the man who had given her such a thoughtful gift, she quickly licked at the sugary smear, quietly moaning as the sweetness lit upon her tongue.

"How may I be of service, my prince?" Cullen asked grandly, dropping to his knee.

"Mother won't let us watch you train the mages," Duncan pouted. "She says we'll be a distraction."

"And she is right," Cullen agreed.

"But we want to see magic and battle!" Lucas protested.

"Do not wish for such a thing," Cullen replied softly, suddenly serious. "You are too young, my princes, to want that. Be children while you can, play at war for as long as is afforded you before you are thrust into the real thing."

"Then show us without all the bad parts," Duncan countered, completely oblivious to Cullen's melancholy

"Duncan," Elissa warned.

"Please, mother," he whined. "There doesn't have to be any blood. It could be a skirmish! Like when Father would practice with his guards. And the Herald could help! She's a mage."

"The commander and the Herald have far more important things to attend to then satisfy your curiosity."

"Would it be so bad to give them a bit of a show?" she murmured to Cullen, watching as Duncan argued his mother about in circles.

"I suppose not," he replied, "though I don't know how entertaining it will be for them to watch me put you in the dirt after only two minutes."

"How very amusing you are," she remarked with a roll of her eyes, "but in this I will not be hampered by an unwieldy blade. This is magic versus might, commander. You have yet to see just what I am made of."

"Then I look forward to finding out," he replied with a wicked grin.

"Your majesty," Evanthe called out, her gaze still locked with Cullen's. "We accede to the prince's request."

"Herald, you don't have to-"

"Trust me, Elissa, it will be my sincere pleasure to knock the commander's legs out from under him," Evanthe assured her, flashing Cullen an insolent grin. Cullen merely bowed, eyes alight with mischief, before unsheathing his sword with an echoing ring. Lucas, eager to see the sport, rushed over to Evanthe, her staff clutched awkwardly in his hands.

"Thank you my prince," she cooed, kneeling down to take the weapon. Lucas flashed her a toothy grin before leaning in close and whispering in her ear.

"I hope you win. That dragon was brilliant." Evanthe smiled and mussed the child's hair before rising to her feet in one smooth gesture. Cullen waited for her in the open garden, his sword twirling in his right hand, a shield clenched tightly in his left. Evanthe swung her staff in an arch as she strode to join him, allowing a bit of magic to crackle in the air as she did so.

"No cleansings," she demanded. "That would be cheating."

"As you say," he replied with a nod. "Let's give the boys a show."

The two began by circling each other, each calm and waiting for the other to strike. Evanthe could feel the twins watching them intently, whispering to each other in excitement. She tuned it out, despite how amused she was by their interest. If she was to have any hope of winning this she would have to concentrate. For all her bluster, she knew Cullen was a seasoned opponent, trained for decades in how to counteract her attacks. It would take a great deal of skill to come out on top in this match.

They each struck at the same moment, as if this were a dance and the steps had been agreed on long before. Cullen rushed her, moving faster than she had thought possible, and she spun away, leveling a blast of cold at him as she did so. She was too slow and the spell merely brushed him by, but she was already readying another, calling it out before she had fully faced him. Cullen raised his shield at the last moment, causing the magic to spark outwards in a burst of color.

And so it went. Her frantically calling spells from every discipline imaginable and him blocking or dodging away. They were quite evenly matched when it came down it. Cullen may have been well educated on the use of magic, but Evanthe was quick, barely giving the commander even a second to strike back. She had put him firmly on the defensive, but gained little to no ground against his skill. She had even used a few tricks from her clans bits of magic thought lost to time that the elders had secretly taught their firsts, and the spells had surprised him, but still he deflected, and it drove her mad.

Her victory came at last when she heard Lucas call out a shout of encouragement. His comment about her dragon wafted through her mind, teasing her with possibilities. As she continued to weave her staff through the air she thought upon the trick she had created for the children, and a smile spread across her face. Cullen may be a templar trained warrior, an expert in how to battle offensive magic in the field, but she would bet everything she possessed that his training did not extend to parlor tricks and amusements. Her grin firmly in place she continued her assault, quietly calling the now crushed petals of her dragon to her on a gentle puff of wind. They slithered along the ground, barely noticeable when compared to the light show she was putting on with the commander. When every last petal had returned to her she willed them once more into the form of a dragon, unleashing a new assault upon the commander to distract him. It was Lucas who caught on first, his quiet gasp of surprise nearly giving her away. Thankfully, Cullen was too focused to notice and Evanthe quickly finished the spell. Sending one more blast of power at her adversary, Evanthe dropped to the ground, leaving Cullen thoroughly confused. That emotion was swiftly replaced with one of surprise as the flower dragon surged forward, roaring silently as it made a beeline for the commander's head. Cullen stumbled back and Evanthe took advantage, barreling into the man and riding him hard into the ground. The two landed in a breathless heap, petals falling all around them, and she could hear the boys whoop with joy at the display.

"I think dragons made of posies constitutes cheating as well," Cullen laughed, staring up at her.

"Pity for you that you did not think to make that a condition," she replied with a grin. Cullen returned the smile in kind, his hand reaching up to remove a petal that had gotten trapped in her pale blonde hair. His fingers lingered, toying lazily with the strand, and Evanthe held her breath, suddenly aware of their position. Their legs were tangled, a mess of limbs and knees, and her chest was pressed tight to his, her hands resting lightly upon his shoulders. She could feel his breath fanning out against her lips and try as she might she could not glance away from his hazel eyes.

"Are they going to kiss, Mother?" she heard Duncan ask and Evanthe flushed at the very thought. She made ready to untangle herself from her commander, but the sound of a horn blasting through the air had her freezing where she lay. Cullen tensed below her, his expression hardening instantly. He began to squirm his way from underneath her and she leapt to her feet, freeing him.

"No," Elissa whispered, all together horrified. "Not again."

"What is it?" Evanthe demanded, confused at the sudden tension that filled the garden.

"Get them to safety," Cullen snapped at the Queen before hastily bending to retrieve his weapons.

"Cullen?" she pressed, a knot of fear settling in her throat.

"We're under attack," her commander replied grimly, tugging harshly upon the straps of his shield Evanthe cursed low and closed her eyes. It appeared as if her stolen moment of normalcy had come to an end. Reality, cruel and persistent, had once more claimed the day.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hello lovies! Thanks again to everyone who has faved/followed/reviewed. It means so much to me and honestly keeps me churning out chapters!**

**For those who are interested I posted a lemony one shot a few days back featuring Cullen and Trevelyan. Its a bit weighty and long, but still filled with smutty, NSFW goodness. If you're so inclined, head to my profile and click on "Brandy and Remembrance" to read!**

**Also, there are more references to "Heavy are the Hearts" in this installment so here is the cliff notes version to catch you up to speed (unless you want to read it, which is awesome!):**

**Elissa and Alistair created an Elven guard in Denerim in an effort to ease tensions between the city elves and the humans. Torin was a member of that guard. He was also lover to Ambrose, a human palace guard and best friend to Elissa. Eamon, in an effort to discredit Elissa, believed that Ambrose and Elissa were having an affair, and presented a tourney favor she had bestowed upon her friend to Alistair as proof of her infidelity. Also, Elissa's bow was gift bestowed upon her by Alistair, the scroll work on the recurves being a family tree of sorts.**

**That should catch you all up!**

**R&R lovies! My birthday's coming up and reviews are better than cake! **

Cullen, Evanthe, Elissa, and her two boys walked quickly through the hallways of Skyhold, not a word said between any of them. Even the twins were uncharacteristically quiet, having divined the seriousness of the situation from their mother's nervous yet determined countenance

"Is it Corypheus?" Evanthe asked softly, the words seeming unbearably loud to her ears.

"More than likely," came Cullen's terse reply. "We have a little time. Skyhold's benefit is that we see an army coming long before they can attack. It will give us time to prepare."

"Your Majesty," an elf called out hurrying towards the group. His was dressed in the armored livery of a Denerim guard, his arms weighed down with plate, chain mail, and the most exquisite bow Evanthe had ever laid eyes on.

"Torin!" Elissa cried in relief. She quickly reached for the pile of armor and weapons, and the elf handed off his burden in relief. Evanthe blinked in surprise as the queen began to outfit herself in the shining plate, buckling it in place with practiced ease.

"Report," Cullen ordered and Torin instantly straightened, turning to address the commander.

"Ser, an army of seventy or more is cresting the rise. Demons and Red Templars alike."

"Is Corypheus among them?" Evanthe asked, her heart in her throat. She had yet to lay eyes upon her enemy, and she did not exactly relish having to do so now. Perhaps it was cowardly of her, but she still did not feel prepared to meet the mysterious Elder One head on. She would like to delay that inevitable day for as long as possible.

"No," Torin replied, "But Erimond is among them."

"Of course he is," Cullen sneered.

"Who's Erimond?" Evanthe questioned.

"A man of little morals and great evil," Cullen replied. "It was he that was the architect of Adamant."

"Torin," Elissa interrupted, securing the last buckle of her armor. It was glorious chest piece of the brightest silver, the laurel wreaths of the Cousland heraldry framing the two roaring mabaris of the Therin's etched upon its front. A split skirt of chain mail spilled over her hips, laying heavily upon the burgundy damask of her gown "Take the children to Zevran. He can move them below ground and keep them safe until this is over."

"Master Aranai would prefer to be at your side. He will not like it, Your Majesty," Torin hedged.

"No, I image he won't" she replied flippantly before tying a fraying lavender ribbon around her wrist, securing the knot with her teeth. "Pity for him you take your orders from me."

"Of course, Your Majesty," the elf replied with the barest hint of a smile. Elissa nodded and dropped to her knees beside her boys, a comforting hand placed upon their cheeks.

"Be brave, my darlings. And do as your Uncle Zevran tells you."

"Will you be alright, Mother?" Lucas asked, the slightest waver in his voice. To hear the fear in the young child's words nearly broke Evanthe's heart. Elissa had been right; no five year old should ever have to live though this, much less the prospect of losing their mother.

"Of course I will," Elissa replied with kind eyes, understanding that her children needed to hear the lie. "I love you both. Be safe, and look after one another." She bestowed a quick kiss upon both of their brows before rising in one graceful motion and turning to regard Torin once more. A trembling smile painted her lips and she pulled him close, kissing the man upon the cheek.

"Come back to me, my friend. And if you cannot..." The queen's voice cracked, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "Give my love to Ambrose." Torin bowed, a sad smile of remembrance edging his lips. Evanthe may not have been able to follow their words, lost as she was to the players involved, but she could tell that the pair held great deal of fondness for one another. They shared a bond made up of loved ones lost and the memory of better times. It would hurt the other greatly if both did not survive the approaching battle, and Evanthe silently vowed to make sure the pair both saw the next sunrise.

Torin gathered up the children and hastily led them away, offering reassurances and soothing bits of nonsense as he did so. Once they were out of ear shot, Elissa closed her eyes, hands tightly gripping the bow Torin had procured for her. It was exquisite in make, polished dragon bone carved to smooth perfection. Trailing, detailed scroll work covered every inch, and Evanthe swore she could make out names carved amongst the loops and swirls.

"I am yours, Commander," Elissa said at last, turning her back upon her children.

"All due respect, Your Majesty, you are not," Cullen replied firmly.

"You will find I am quite adequate in my skills, Ser Cullen" the queen countered tightly.

"Skilled or not I will not risk you in this. You are Ferelden's Queen-

"And I am not the first of such to fight for her country upon a blood-soaked battlefield," Elissa snapped. "Nor will I be the last. My kingdom is stolen, Commander, and I will fight to reclaim it with my very last breath. My husband's grandmother died trying to pry Ferelden from Orlesian hands, and if I must do the same, then I shall go to my death with a righteous heart. Do not stymie me in this."

"Cullen," Evanthe murmured with a hand upon his arm, "Let her go." Evanthe had a sneaking suspicion that even if the Commander barred her in this, Elissa would manage to find herself in the fray regardless. The Queen was too head strong and passionate not to, and Evanthe admired her all the more for it, even as she ached at the prospect of the two young princes losing their mother.

"On the ramparts," Cullen said at last, acquiescing with a reluctant heart. "You shall have the archers, my lady. I trust you know how best to command them?"

"I've known since I was fourteen, Commander," the Queen replied, walking away with her head held high and a regal bearing to spine. "This is what I was raised to do." Evanthe stared after her, praying to any god that would listen for her safe return.

"I want you with her," Cullen ordered, following after a time. "The mages as well. Our soldiers will need all the support they can get. You can command them from the ramparts."

"You're putting me out of harms way?" Evanthe cried angrily, rushing to catch up with him.

"Harms way has become relative as of late," Cullen argued, "but yes, in this I am. If Elissa's safety is paramount, than yours is doubly so."

"Absolutely not," she insisted. "I am not some breakable trinket you can place high upon a shelf, Cullen. I can be of value to you. I should be on the field-"

"No," he countered angrily, rounding on her so fast that she nearly ran into his chest. "We only just got you back, and I will not risk losing you again. You are the Herald of Andraste, the symbol of what the Inquisition stands for, and you are too important to be struck down, or worse yet, captured."

"I know how to take care of myself, Cullen," she argued through clenched teeth.

"Of that I have little doubt. But a week spent training with a blade does make you a warrior. You'd be slaughtered on the field. You belong on the ramparts with the others, suppressing their attack and offering cover fire should we need to retreat." He was right, of course, and she knew it. The sting of it lingered, however, as she fought against the urge to continue arguing. Evanthe did not like to be coddled, it made her feel useless, and she wondered just how much of a help she'd truly be stuck high on Skyhold's walls. More over, she did not wish an unobstructed view from which to watch her troops fall.

"Very well," she accepted with reluctance. Cullen nodded tightly before spinning on his heel and taking his leave. Evanthe watched him go for a moment, wondering what part he was to play in this madness. He did not seem the sort of commander to lead from the rear, safely perched upon a horse and barking out orders. No, Cullen would lead his men from within their midst, battling shoulder to shoulder with them against the encroaching army. He would not ask of his soldiers what he himself was not willing to give, Evanthe was sure of it, and as such she had a fleeting moment of panic, wondering if this was to be the last she ever saw of him.

"Cullen!" she cried out, racing to intercept him before he disappeared into the outside world. He turned upon hearing his name, clearly expecting another argument from her. When she simply stared up at him with worried eyes, mouth open but unable to speak, his features softened and he placed a gentle hand upon her shoulder.

"Just...come back," she said at last, the words sounding completely inadequate when compared to what she was feeling. Cullen nodded and tried to smile, though the effect was less than comforting. For a moment it seemed as if he hovered on the precipice of saying something, a confession on a grand scale, and Evanthe held her breath. Words seemed to fail him, however, and he settled for simply placing his hand upon her cheek, crossing a line they both had been reluctantly flirting with for days now. Had it been under any other circumstances Evanthe would have pulled away, mumbling excuses and trying to cover her reaction. But there seemed to be a immediacy about the moment, a finality that could very easily come to pass. Should they both survive there would be time to agonize over the gesture later, but right now, in that moment, Evanthe simply leaned into her commander's touch and swallowed hard around the lump in her throat.

"I must go," Cullen whispered, tearing himself away from her. Evanthe nodded and accompanied him outside into the carefully choreographed chaos of the courtyard. They parted ways instantly, turning their backs on one another as they set off to do what was demanded of them, but Evanthe could not stop herself from glancing over her shoulder one last time at her commander. And it did not surprise her in the least to discover that he had done the same.

~oOo~

The ramparts were packed tight with archers, mages, and crude pitch traps rigged to ropes and pulleys. It was almost suffocating to have so many bodies pressed close, and Evanthe pushed her way slowly throng, trying to find the best place from which to lead her charges. The mages would be hers to command, and she surveyed the Skyhold's crumbling walls with a critical eyes. There was very little cover afforded them, most of the fortresses crenelations having fallen long ago, but someone had stacked bags of grain in key places, affording them some small bit of protection. Evanthe spied Solas standing near one such pile and she began to slowly make her way to his side, surprised that he had been trusted enough to be a part of this.

"So we are to play at war," he murmured as she joined him, staring out at the horizon and the approaching army. Evanthe followed his gaze and felt her chest constrict when she spotted the force that made its way steadily towards Skyhold's walls. Templars covered in bits of red lyrium, their augmentations casting an unholy crimson glow upon the ground, marched in orderly formations, swords and shields clenched tight and at the ready. In contrast demons swirled chaotically amongst their ranks, screeching and spitting all the while. It was an intimidating sight, and at the center of it stood a mage, his face arrogant and proud. This had to be Erimond, Evanthe would bet her life on it. She hated the man on sight, thinking he had the look of someone who liked to make others suffer, if only for his own greedy gain. He needed to be put down, for the good of all, and Evanthe coldly hope she would be the one to do it.

"I don't think there will be much playing to it at all," Evanthe murmured quietly, already mourning the losses she knew was coming. "Seems to be quite real."

"These walls have stood against countless armies through the centuries," Solas offered, as if divining her thoughts. "The inhabitants have faced many a mighty foe and emerged victorious, I have seen it in the fade. There is a power in these stones. You are in good company, da'vhenan. Skyhold will not fall."

"Skyhold might not, but the Inquisition very well may. And of that esteemed company I doubt a one of those past armies ever had to face the likes of Corypheus," she offered, eyes scanning over her troops on the ground. They were lined up neatly in rows, banners and weapons held proudly in their hands. Cullen walked among them, encouraging and ordering about his men with practiced ease. The eyes of every soldier stayed locked on their commander, and Evanthe could see they would follow him into the black city itself if he demanded it of them. When Cullen had at last finished his speech he strode to the middle of his troops, placing himself on the front lines and staring out with determined eyes at the enemy that was marching ever closer. Evanthe took a sharp breath and fought the urge to scream down at him to move farther back. He would be vulnerable in such a position, the most likely to take damage in the initial onslaught. She hated that he was there.

"You worry for the commander's safety," Solas said coldly from her side, breaking her from her thoughts.

"I worry for everyone's safety," she replied automatically.

"Yes, but it is he whom your eyes seek without volition."

"Does that bother you?" she asked hotly as she turned to face him, noting the faint stirrings of bitterness in his voice.

"It is merely that one has to wonder, if things were different, would you look upon me in such a fashion?" Solas replied honestly as he faced her, not even bothering to keep his emotions hidden.

"Yes, well, things aren't different, Solas," Evanthe replied turning to leave.

"Then it would not bother you were I to perish?" he called after her, stopping her in her tracks. The thought hit her like herd of halla running straight through her gut. To imagine Solas, bloodied and lifeless, upon the stone ramparts destroyed something in her, loathe as she was to admit it. If he were to die this day she would mourn him, deeply and utterly, to the void with what his crimes were.

"I..." she stammered out, unable to form a response that wouldn't outright give her feelings away.

"Your silence speaks plainly enough," she heard him reply quietly, though satisfaction echoed through his words. It was enough to knock her back to anger and she rounded on him with a scowl upon her face.

"I'm not heartless, Solas, but thanks ever so for painting me as such."

"You must forgive me sometime, da'vhenan," he countered, managing to hit up the true nature of their conversation in one swift blow.

"I rather think I don't."

"This war will ask much of you, Evanthe," he pressed, stalking towards her. "Things you are, perhaps, unwilling to give. Not just this battle, but the ones that come after. There will be blood upon the ground and you will lose a great many men. You will be asked to weigh the measure of one man's life against another and nightmares will become more than shadows creeping on your bed at dark. And through it all you will be forced to face a part of you you had never thought to exist. Such is the nature of this brave new world. When stacked against all that, is forgiveness really beyond your reach?" He was close to her now, staring down at her with demanding eyes. The wall that had been erected between them, a careful barrier that kept the past and memories so clear they were practically tangible from clawing too close, had crumbled in that moment, and it was simply the two of them; raw and exposed.

"For the man who is responsible for all of it?" she whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from his, "Yes...it is." It was a lie she needed to tell, if only for self preservation's sake. But it hurt her, nearly as much as it hurt him. She could see it in his eyes, the defeat. Her forgiveness meant more to him than his calculating speech had let on, and it pained her that she was unable to give it to him.

"I'm giving you a battalion of mages to command," she stated, stepping back from him and everything he represented. "I want you to focus on support: barriers, wards, glyphs, ice walls. Keep my soldiers alive. Me and mine will focus on offense."

"You would trust me with this?" Solas asked, taken aback by the notion.

"I trust you to see to your own interests, Solas," she replied. "You want forgiveness? Such a thing must be earned." She turned to leave but was halted by his hand sliding along her waist, demanding her attention.

"Be safe, da'vhenan," he murmured, the words so honest it hurt to hear.

"You as well," she whispered in reply, unable to not return the sentiment. She fair fled after, hurrying along the battlements, gathering mages to her as a honey would flies and barking out commands. When she had at last given all her orders she sought out Elissa, finding her near the center of the ramparts and adjusting the string on her bow.

"Are you ready, Your Majesty?" she asked as she gripped her staff tight.

"Who is ever ready for any of this?" Elissa replied, staring down at the field. Evanthe followed the woman's gaze and found Torin amid the ranks of soldiers patiently waiting on Cullen's word. He was stationed a fair ways back, a pair of daggers cradled loosely in his hands.

"You and Torin seem close," Evanthe commented lightly, wondering what the connection between a city born elf and the Queen of Ferelden could possibly be.

"He is the last of my elven guard," Elissa replied with a sad smile. "A relic of a life lived long before this one."

"Who is Ambrose?" Evanthe wondered, unable to bide her curiosity any longer.

"My dearest friend and Torin's lover. Cut down in Denerim when Corypheus marched upon the city." Elissa's delicate fingers played along the lavender ribbon tied upon her wrist as she answered and Evanthe could not help but glance at it. Elissa caught her staring and smiled, holding her arm up to offer a better view. "I favored him with this at a tourney once. Caused quite the scandal amongst the nobility and incited my husband's jealousy something fierce. Ambrose merely..." The queen's voice cracked, and a tear slid slowly down her cheek, falling upon her armor without a sound. "I miss him everyday." Before Evanthe could offer her sympathies, Leliana interrupted the pair, her own long bow slung high across her back.

"Herald," the bard intoned grimly. "They come." Evanthe nodded tightly and turned to face the field, her staff held at the ready.

It was time to do battle.

~oOo~

The tide was turning and not for the better. The Inquisition had put up a better fight than Evanthe had anticipated. What they lacked in numbers they more than made up for in training, command, and sheer dumb luck. Demons, for all that they are fiercesome, do not relish being held by a leash, and as such Erimond and his few mages had to constantly correct their behavior, reigning their demonic force back in and wasting precious seconds. Cullen and his men took advantage of this almost instantly, pressing their attack and slaughtering the loathsome creatures when they were forced to bend to the will of their masters. The Red Templars were a different matter; men trained to do battle and bolstered by the tainted mineral in their veins. They fought ruthlessly and almost without pause, never stopping until they were cut down. Iron Bull had been the Inquisition's one advantage in this, his crimson cloaked presence enough to make the templars hesitate, a deadly mistake that resulted in many of their deaths.

While Cullen commanded their ground troops, Solas, Evanthe, Leliana and Elissa command those that had taken to the sky; raining fire and arrows down upon their foes with a fury the Dalish elf had never before seen. Elissa, true to her boasting, was an extremely accomplished archer, and not a few of the slain were dead by her hand. Solas had followed Evanthe's command to the letter, offering barriers and defensive magic to those on the ground who needed them. Meanwhile, Evanthe led the mages under her command with a single minded focus, leveling blast after blast of power at those that skirted too close to Skyhold's walls.

It was a valiant effort, but it wasn't enough. Evanthe could see that plain as day. For every templar or demon cut down, two of Evanthe's troops fell. The math was slowly turning against them, and Evanthe struggled against the panic that fluttered at her breast.

It was well into the second hour of the battle that things began to go devastatingly wrong. One moment Evanthe was barking out orders, raining fire upon a group of pride demons, the next she heard Elissa's shrill, piercing scream shatter through the air. Whirling about she watched as the queen fell back, an arrow imbedded deep in her shoulder, the shaft sticking out from between a gap in her armor.

"I am alright," Elissa grit out as those around her swarmed to help. "Leave me be."

"Get her to the infirmary," Evanthe snapped at a nearby archer, tone brooking no refusal. When the man made to lift her upright Elissa hissed in warning and pinned him with a glare.

"Absolutely not," the queen countered. "I'm fine."

"What you are is useless," Evanthe argued, lifting the other woman's arm harshly. The scream that accompanied the action proved her point and she glared pointedly at the queen. "There is no way you can set an arrow, Your Majesty. Your time upon the field is done." Elissa clearly was not happy with the situation, but she bowed her head in acceptance and relaxed against the stones, waiting patiently for help. Evanthe motioned to the archer once more and together the two lifted the queen upright, trying to be as gentle as possible. When at last the woman was on her feet and being led carefully away, Evanthe turned her attention once more to the carnage that lay below, and felt the world come grinding to a halt.

She would never know if fate had timed it so that she would bear witness to his fall, but it seemed almost too perfect in its synchronicity to not be so. As she turned, her eyes fell upon Cullen, his shield held high against a vicious downswing from a red templar. The shock from the blow had him reeling back, guard left open, and his enemy thrust hard, shoving a serrated longsword deep into her commander's gut. Evanthe screamed as it happened, watching in horror as Cullen fell to his knees. She was moving before she could even think, aiming a massive bolt of lightening at the templar and knocking him far away from the injured man. Her feet pounded over the battlements, hands shoving at anyone that got in her way. Elissa was among them and the queen let out a startled gasp, demanding to know what had happened. Evanthe did not have time for her questions, she simply leapt to the edge of the ramparts, and reached out, grasping at the slackened chains of Skyhold's long defunct drawbridge. She jumped with out pause, the flesh of her hands instantly shredding as she slid down the rusted length of iron. Above her she could hear shouts of panic, Solas' voice loudest among them all. None of it touched her, she simply fell, ignoring the pain and the and outrage as she fought to control her descent. She hit the ground hard, rolling with the impact, and immediately shot to her feet, running with precise strides towards her injured commander.

"Damnit!" she distantly heard Elissa cried out. "All of you! Protect the herald, give her cover!" The order was followed immediately, and Evanthe could feel barriers and wards fall in to place around her, a hail of arrows began to clear her path. She followed gratefully, eyes glued to Cullen, and sprinted across the blood splattered snow. When at last she reached him, she fell to her knees, hands already reaching out to press against his wound.

"What on the Maker's green earth are you doing?" He demanded once the shock of seeing her on the field had worn off. "Get back on the battlements!"

"Be still" she sobbed, hands fumbling at his armor as she sought to give him some semblance of care.

"Evanthe, you must get back," he pleaded, hands futilely trying to push her away. Evanthe shook her head, tears blurring her vision and she continued to press, fingers now slick and sticky with his blood.

"Evanthe, listen to me. You must...Evanthe!" Her name was shouted as a warning, and she turned on instinct, a hand thrown up uselessly in defense. Time seemed to slow to an unbearable crawl as she watched the demon barrel towards her, clawed hands outstretched to rend at her flesh. Evanthe had nothing; not a weapon, not a hope, not anything of use beyond her power, and she doubted it would be enough. Closing her eyes she said a silent goodbye to those that had loved her, and let her power free. It was different than triggering a spell, that was always a controlled spiral down into the well of her magic, a steady draw upon what lay in wait. This was different, it was as if she let open the flood gates and every last bit of what made her a mage filled her up, expanding and demanding release. She could feel it shoot down her arm and leave her in a burst of power that left her numb all over.

It was then, that the world seemed to explode.

A chorus of a screams rose up from the field, sounding like a symphony of the damned. It was haunting, it was beautiful, and it was suffering on a massive scale. Evanthe eyes wrenched open and she gasped upon seeing the cause of such a terrifying sound. All around her demons and templars fell to their knees, backs arched back in painful angles, pulsing green auras enveloping and pinning them in place. One by one they fell, each collapsing upon the ground in lifeless heaps, until, at last, it was just her and Cullen left alive in the center of it all. The silence that followed was deafening, and for a moment Evanthe wondered if she had lost her ability to hear.

"Retreat!" she heard shouted out, followed by the great cacophony of an army scrambling to get away. Cries of triumph rose from behind her, a victorious outburst that echoed off the stones of Skyhold's battle scared walls. Evanthe turned a wide eyed gaze to Cullen, as if he would perhaps have answers to the thousand questions that now battered about her skull. He simply gave her the barest hint of a smile, eyes glassy and unfocused.

"We won," he breathed, before collapsing against the snow, and Evanthe once more forgot about everything but the man dying right before her eyes.

"Help!" she screamed, tears falling anew as she tended to Cullen's wound once more. She could feel him slipping away from her with every shallow breath that passed, and when help at last arrived, she wasn't certain it was anywhere close to being in time.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hello lovies! Sorry for the slight delay but it was my birthday weekend and I was busy. Also my old friend writers block decided to show up for a visit. Very frustrating. Ugh, my problem is that I have every key plot point planned out perfectly but getting to them is a problem. The chapters in between that set them up seem to be the hardest for me lately. Also, I'm just too close to my own work that I can't ever see if its any good. It all makes for a very unhappy writer!  
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**Anywho...thank you again to everyone who has faved/followed/reviewed! I am FLOORED by the attention this story has gotten and I love each and every one of you. Lots of metaphorical cookies to you all!**

**I had to make up some Qunlat words for this. "Vas Kastoth" is an exclamation of shock/anger. Along the lines of "jesus christ!" I just kinda went with hard consonants and S's. Katari, on the other hand, is a Qunlat word meaning "one who brings death," which I felt was fitting for Cole given that he is an assassin and an "angel of mercy."**

**Also, lots of questions last chapter about the spell Evanthe casted. Check out the authors note at the end for a bit of an explanation**

**R&R lovies, nothing kicks writers block in the face faster than a review!**

Evanthe stared hard at the door that barred her from the sick room, as if through her will alone the barrier would swing open and she would be allowed entrance. Despite her anger and worry the threshold remained closed and she fought against the urge to blast it open with magic and demand answers to all the questions that were festering inside of her. The knowledge that Cesare was doing his best and would need total concentration to heal her commander was the only thing that stayed her hand, but it was a narrow tightrope of a decision that she walked. The fact that she had been summarily expelled from the infirmary did little to help with the situation.

After the battle Cullen had been swept from the filed on a litter and she had followed close behind, needing to reassure herself that the man still drew breath. Every shallow rise of his chest was a prayer she sent out to any deity that happened to be listening, and every trickle of blood that fell from his wound was a goodbye she wasn't prepared to say. When the group had burst into the sick room, startling Cesare away from a patient, she had pinned the man with wild eyes and demanded that he do everything within his power to save her commander. He had hesitated for only the smallest of moments, his body needing to catch up with his mind, before leaping into action and taking the command of the situation. Barking out orders the healer had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, demanding answers and commandeering any nearby mage with the slightest bit of medicinal training. Other injured parties had begun to trickle in at that point, reminding Evanthe that Cullen was not the only man under her command fighting back death. It was these patients that Cesare delegated out to the others, and Evanthe had wondered how many of those that quickly filled the cots of the sick room would live to see the morning. For his part, Cesare had eyes only for Cullen, face serious and tight as he worked his magic. In the end he had needed assistance, and Solas, who had somehow managed to slip in unnoticed, was tasked with helping keep Cullen alive. The elf obeyed without hesitation, glancing only briefly at Evanthe to ensure that she was fine with the turn of events. She nodded once in reply, and he turned from her, hands already glowing blue with magic.

Had she the choice, Evanthe would have stayed until it was done, until Cullen had received the blessing of a full recovery, but healing is a gruesome, delicate matter and she was woefully unprepared for just what this endeavor would entail. Bad enough to see the blood and viscera up close, but to hear the screams...it was more than she could bear. When Cullen began to cry out in pain, a sound that seemed to claw its way up from deep inside the man, Evanthe had panicked and rushed to his side, certain that he was dying right before her very eyes. She had, of course, gotten in the way, and Cesare was less than thrilled with her presence. It was then that the healer had ordered her out, stating that unless she knew how to heal, her being there was more of a hindrance than a help. When she refused to move, the man, possessing a measure of strength she didn't know he had, proceeded to grip her by the arm and haul her away, fair throwing her out of the room. And so she was left to stare intently at a wooden door as she wondered just what was happening to a man she wasn't sure she could live without. If Cullen perished...then the Inquisition perished along with him. Without him, there was no one to command their troops, no one to bring some semblance of order to a world gone mad. Cullen was vital to what they were trying to accomplish and, in that moment, it seemed as if the fate of what was left of the world hinged upon whether or not his heart continued to beat.

"Boss," she heard murmured quietly over her shoulder and she turned to find a blood spattered Iron Bull standing nearby. "Come on, there's nothing you can do. Better to let the healers do their work and you to get roaring drunk than stand around and worry."

"I don't want to get roaring drunk," she replied numbly, turning to stare at the door once more.

"I do," came the Qunari's reply as he gently began to steer her away from the infirmary "You can watch. Have you ever seen a Ben Hassrath drink? We can pack it away. It'll help you keep your mind off things." Evanthe let him lead her away, too tired to put up even a token fight, and resigned herself to not knowing what was going on behind closed doors.

Neither of them said a word as Bull led her through Skyhold, a meandering journey that eventually took them to the kitchens. Evanthe slumped down upon a small trestle table and watched with numb eyes as Bull began to poke through the pantries, searching out anything with enough liquor content to get him drunk. When he at last found his quarry, the Qunari triumphantly slammed two bottles down upon the table, setting one before her in case she changed her mind. Evanthe simply stared at the amber glass, eyes looking through it into nothing. She felt untethered, as if time no longer chained her with its earthly bonds. She was apart from the world, existing in a purgatory of waiting, and nothing seemed quite real.

"Falling apart. Everything is unraveling. Smell of copper as blood hits the nose, and she can feel him slipping away. He is waiting to die and she can't stop it from falling apart. How can she do this without him?" a voice whispered from the shadows and Bull nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of it.

"Vas Kastoth!" he cried out, whirling around to glare at Cole who had crept slightly out from a darkened corner. "Scaring people from the shadows is a good way to wind up dead, Katari."

"Cole," Evanthe whispered, forcing herself to rise to her feet. "Are you alright?"

"There's so much quiet," he replied, voice small and frightened. "Screaming until silence, one by one. I could feel them dying."

"Who?" Evanthe demanded, heart clenching tight in her chest. "Who is dying?"

"The templars. The demons," he clarified, looking at her with wary eyes. "You made them break, pulling them apart from the inside, and now they are quiet."

"Good thing, too," Bull interjected, sitting down to drink once more. "You saved our asses with that light show, boss. Seems a handy weapon to have."

"Cole, do you know what happened? What I did?" she asked gently, taking a step towards him. When she did so, he shrank back, trying to hide himself in the shadows once more. Evanthe frowned and drew up short, unwilling to frighten the boy more than she already had. "What's wrong?"

"It pulses, still feeding on the blood," the boy responded, jutting his chin towards her hand. Evanthe glanced down, turning her palm upwards to gaze upon her mark. "I don't want to disappear"

"Holy hell, Boss," Bull whistled low as he came up behind her. "What did you do?" Evanthe could only stare dumbly down at her hands, shocked that she hadn't noticed the carnage before. Her palms were raw, bloody, and torn to ribbons. Blood had dried in a thick layer, sticky and pulling at the jagged tears that reached deep into her flesh. When she had slid down the chain from the battlements she vaguely recalled a sharp pain from the metal cutting into her skin, but she had been so wrapped up in keeping Cullen alive that she hadn't even noticed the injuries until now. Of course, once she had turned her attention to them, her hands began to throb with a sharp rhythm, pain spiraling out into her arms. And through it all the mark upon her palm pulsed green, crackling and sparking around the blood that seeped from her wounds.

"It made it quiet," Cole reiterated from his corner. "And the blood made it permanent."

"We need to get you cleaned up," Bull murmured, cradling her wrist in his meaty, calloused hand. "One thing I've learned is that if the knife wound doesn't kill you then the infection will."

"Wait," she commanded, sliding out of his grip with a wince and turning her attention to Cole. "Can you...that is...I need to know if-"

"Pain. Blood. Both here and not. He can feel the magic, feel it piecing him back together. Inch by inch it heals. He can't hear her voice, but she was there, and he wants to know where she has gone. Another stitch, another spell, he can't think and he just wants to sleep," Cole interrupted, glancing upwards. When he had at last finished he looked at her with eyes that had seen too much and offered her the truth, depressing as it was. "He is still alive, but his thoughts are fading away."

"Thank you, Cole," she choked out, tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. She made to reach out to him, offering him a bit of comfort in the midst of all the uncertainty that seemed to swirl around them, but he shrank away, and in that moment, Evanthe realized he was afraid of her, though she could not fathom why.

"Come on, Boss," Bull urged, guiding her to the table once more. "Let's patch you up."

~oOo~

Evanthe hissed as Bull gingerly pulled another shard of metal from her palm. For the last hour he had been carefully cleaning her hands, wiping the blood away with water soaked rags and cleaning them out with burning splashes of whiskey. With every pass more bits of debris were revealed, each having to be pulled from her flesh lest her skin begin to heal around them. Once cleaned the wounds looked less impressive, merely angry red gashes that traced a map of pain across her hands. Her mark had stopped pulsing once the blood had been wiped away, almost as if the crimson stain had been a catalyst for its behavior. She was too much of a mage not to be worried at this. She knew the dangers of mixing blood and power, even unintentionally, and she wondered just how potent something born of the fade would be when boosted by her blood.

"Almost done, boss," Bull murmured as he splashed more liquor upon her hands. The whiskey hit her like fire, burning through everyone of her nerves as it sizzled along her wounds. "We'll have to wrap them until the healer can take a look."

"Allow me," she heard offered from the doorway and Evanthe leapt to her feet, turning around with her heart in her throat. Solas stood in the doorway, his tunic covered in blood and exhaustion edging his eyes. He looked worn out beyond measure, as if he were half a second away from falling asleep while still standing. Evanthe didn't care, all she wanted to know was how her commander was faring.

"Solas," she breathed out, rushing over to him. "What-"

"He is fine, lethallan," Solas answered. "He sleeps, aided by magic, but he will wake in time. The commander will recover, though it was a near thing." Evanthe let out a breath she wasn't aware she had been holding, and felt relief crash through her in a painful wave. Everything seemed to speed up, to snap back around reality and time, and it was difficult to adjust. The worry she had carried with her seemed reluctant to leave, and she could feel it reaching out, whispering venomous doubt in her mind.

"Thank you," she whispered, once her voice had returned to her, gazing up at him with grateful eyes. "It was a kindness that you helped." Solas bowed slightly in acknowledgment before turning his attention to her ravaged hands. He frowned ever so slightly as he reached out to cradle her palms in his own, one finger ghosting delicately over a particularly deep cut.

"Da'vhenan," he murmured. "These are deep. They..." It seemed to be too much for him, and he let himself trail off, tongue fumbling over all the words he wanted to say. Evanthe stood still before him, bracing herself for a lecture about her foolishness, or warnings that her hands may never functions normally again. But Solas simply stared at the damage, a thousand emotions flickering in his eyes as he quietly contemplated what she had done to herself in the service of another. "Come," he said at last, voice thick as if he were trying not cry. "Let me tend to you. Cesare will be sometime yet with the injured, and we must needs stem the tide of improper mending, lest these become useless to you in the future."

"In that case, I'll go," Bull interjected, lumbering to his feet and taking his leave. "See if I can find some more whiskey. Wasted too much on your delicate little fingers, boss."

Evanthe raised a hand in farewell and allowed her self to be guided to the table once more, following as obediently as lamb. Once they were settled Solas reached into his tunic, pulling a vial of lyrium from its folds and drinking deep. She could see the tonic take effect, bringing a measure of color back to his naturally pale skin, and for the first time she saw the shadows around his eyes and the way that exhaustion pressed down upon his shoulders.

"You should be resting," she muttered as he reached for her right hand. "This is too much for you. I can see it in your bones. There are others who can tend to this, you don't have to-"

"Yes," hes interjected firmly, "I do." He flicked his gaze up to her and the worry in his eyes nearly felled her. Much as she had needed to be near Cullen to reassure herself that he still drew breath, Solas needed to tend her injuries, in only to prove that she was not a figment of broken hope.

"Solas..."

"I was so angry with you, da'vhenan," he murmured as he began to work upon her hands. The magic wove it's self around her flesh, sinking into her skin with a cooling sigh. She could feel the tendrils reaching into her wounds, knitting tissue and chasing away infection. It almost turned her attention away from the man before her, but his words echoed in her head and she glanced at him in confusion. Solas, for his part, refused to meet her gaze and continued to work; his body remaining detached when his voice would not. "I could not fathom what you were thinking when you leapt from the battlements. An act of bravery so simplistic in its stupidity. Your fall seemed never ending."

"Can you not understand why I did what I did?" she questioned, angry at the implied lecture.

"Of course I understand," he replied mournfully. "I understand far more than you give me credit for. When you jumped...in the moment between fall and landing I watched you die a hundred times over. And I was forced to confront a world in which you no longer lived. It was only when your feet touched the ground did I dare to hope. To witness you caught in such peril was a torture I found myself unfit to bear."

"We are at war," she offered uselessly, uncomfortable with his sudden confession. She didn't know what to do with his words, didn't like the way they slid inside her and latched on to her heart. It was a pretty speech but there was no place in her world for such sentiment, not anymore, and yet the confession carved a place for itself nonetheless, a permanent part of her story whether she liked it or not. "I will be put in harms way, it is unavoidable."

"And yet I foolishly wish it were not so," he muttered as he switched hands, turning to her left and inspecting her mark. "I would give a great many things to ensure you see the full measure of your years, da'vhenan."

"Solas-"

"Do not say my name in such a fashion," he agonized. "Please, Evanthe. To hear the pity and exasperation is a torture all its own."

"Then how am I to say it when you speak so mournfully?"

"You are right," he said after a moment, all trace of deeper emotions gone from his voice. "Forgive me. It was selfish of me to give voice to such things. Especially given the nature of our...relationship."

"That's not it," she argued, watching as her skin began to knit together before her eyes. "Whatever lies between us, it does not discount my actions...or your reaction to them."

"And yet, it should," Solas countered quietly, finishing off his spell and gently placing her hands in her lap. "I have already let myself get too tangled up in your life, da'vhenan. It is a kindness that I never speak of such matters again."

"A kindness would be you speaking plainly for once," Evanthe muttered in irritation. "You're so full of secrets hidden in words that I don't know what to believe anymore, Solas. You claim to live and die with every breath I take and yet you continue to hide much of yourself behind deceit and an indifference we both know you do not feel."

"It matters little what I feel when you have made it clear that such a thing is unwelcome. You're daring rescue of the commander only serves to underscore such a point." Evanthe gaped at him in shock before pushing herself to her feet and back peddling away from him.

"Is that what this is about?" she demanded. "Your seething jealousy over another man?"

"No," he countered angrily, rising to chase after her. "It is that, but it is also a great deal more. Whatever lies between us is more than just my deceit and your anger. Try as you might you can not wish away your feelings for me, da'vhenan, any more than I could force myself to step away from you. And yet we both would be better off were it so. I should be doing everything in my power to push you into the commander's arms but the thought sickens me. I _sicken_ me, for I never should have allowed this to get as far as it did. It is more than some barbaric ownership of your affections, it is you, Evanthe. _You_, in all your tempting glory. You were not supposed to happen."

"I am not at fault for any of this, Solas," Evanthe protested in outrage.

"Of course you aren't, any more than the rabbit is at fault for being prey to the fox," he countered stepping away from her as if being near her was agony in and of itself. "Perhaps we should speak of other matters. This subject treads too close to things best left unsaid."

"Then what would you have us speak of?" she demanded petulantly, hoping to stoke his anger enough that he would not retreat once more behind a wall that closed her off to him. This was as close as they had come to truly speaking of what lay between them, and despite the pain, Evanthe needed this. If nothing else they could wound and prick each other into an awful sort of catharsis, bring closure to whatever they had once meant to one another. But Solas was already one step ahead of her, and she could see the transformation from heartbroken elf into cool, professional apostate take place before her very eyes.

"The power you unleashed upon the field of battle," he answered her at last, gesturing to her palm. "It was quite terrible in its fury. You cleared a circle of at least twelve templars and demons in one blow. I wonder what caused such a display."

"I don't know," she answered with a weary sigh, "I wasn't exactly paying attention at the time."

"Think, da'vhenan. Try to remember what happened when you reached for the power inside you."

"I didn't reach for anything," she explained. "I just threw my hand up and let go. It was...it was like I opened a door inside me and everything just came rushing out."

"Not rushing out," Solas corrected, reaching for her left hand. "But _reaching _out_._ You commanded the fade, Evanthe. I could feel it upon the battlements. You used your mark as an anchor to warp the magic of the veil to your will. It is why the demons were felled so quickly, you managed to create a rift within them, banishing them from this world."

"How is that possible? I didn't actively cast anything! And even if what you say is true, why then were the templars struck down? There is nothing in them that ties them to the fade, they should not have been affected."

"Perhaps it was this that caused the templars such distressed," Solas posited, brushing a finger over her now healed wounds. "Blood is a powerful amplifier when paired with the most basic of magic...when coupled with something of this magnitude? The results would be extraordinary"

"Are you saying I cast blood magic?" She whispered, yanking her hand away and cringing as all her worst suspicions came to light.

"Not on purpose, da'vhenan, but yes. You bled upon your mark and let your power free. The result of which is twelve enemies felled in a manner of seconds."

"I'm not doing it again," she insisted, cradling her hand close to her chest. "Accident or not, it never should have happened." For all that her clan embraced magic, it was understood that those who sliced open a vein in order to divine the secrets of the fade did so at their own peril. There was no place within the clan for such a mage, and those that wished to remain of the people stayed far away from the forbidden practice.

"As you wish, da'vhenan," Solas replied, not even putting up the barest of arguments. "But refusing to cast blood magic does not cut you off from the initial power. It seems your mark has a purpose beyond sealing rifts, a purpose you would do well to explore."

"And how am I to explore it? It's not as if there are books of study for those who find themselves carrying a bit of the fade around with them."

"By practicing, of course," he explained patiently, clearly put out at her reluctance. "You will soon be venturing outside the safety of Skyhold's walls as you search for the dwarven kingdom. The opportunity should afford you demons a plenty on which to test your new found power."

"I don't know if I feel comfortable messing about with something so dangerous, Solas," she hedged. "It's not as if this is merely some lost bit of fire magic one tinkers about with because one is bored. This is magic on a grand scale that no mortal was meant to wield I can't just point my palm at an enemy and hope I don't kill my allies in the process."

"Unfortunately you are left with little choice," Solas countered with a shrug. "You have been given a weapon, a powerful one, and you must learn to wield it with grace and control, lest you falter and Corypheus crushes us all."

"But how am I to learn with no one to guide me? The fade was never my path, I don't know the first thing about..." Evanthe trailed off when her brain finally caught up with her words. It had been so obvious that she almost hadn't seen it, and honestly, a part of her wished she hadn't. She could see the moment in which Solas caught on as well, and both looked away, unwilling to voice what was staring them both pointedly in the face. It seemed almost comical that after their initial discussion, fate would force them into such a position, though neither seemed to be laughing at the irony of it all.

"Please, Evanthe do not ask me. There are other mages in residence-"

"But none that boast your talent and knowledge when it comes to the fade," she interjected softly. "Let us not bother with the argument, Solas. We both know it has to be you to teach me this."

"And you would be comfortable to have me in your company, working closely beside you as we guide your skills to greatness?"

"Comfort has very little do with anything, Solas," she sighed. "But we must learn to live in the same world as one another, if only for the benefit of others. If I am to win this war I must sacrifice my happiness in order to see my enemies slain."

"I only wish I was not the cause of it," Solas lamented, turning his back upon her. "Very well. I shall be your instructor in this, because I find I do not have it in me to refuse you."

"Thank you," she replied awkwardly and for a time neither of them spoke. Evanthe could see that no matter how hard she tried there would always be a thread tying her back to this man who had betrayed her on such a deep level. Fate would only allow her so much slack before tightening the bond once more and pulling her back to into his periphery. Solas would be a part of her life for the foreseeable future, and she had no way of knowing whether it was something she would be able to bear without getting lost in the power he seemed to wield over her. Her only solace was that he seemed to be just as lost to her, so if nothing else they would suffer together, each trying desperately to untangle themselves from one another's lives.

"You should see to the commander, da'vhenan," Solas offered after a time as he began to take his leave. "I am sure you wish to see his recovery with your own two eyes. Perhaps his presence could offer you the happiness mine seems to destroy."

**A/N: Okay, so Evanthe's spell. The "mark of the rift" ability in game banishes demons in the area of effect and also injures/outright kills other enemies caught in the circumference as well. It's a green glowy/foggy visual that makes the badies freeze and slightly bend back. With Evanthe, I kinda wanted to play with it being amplified because of the blood upon her hands. Hence the intensity of the spell. **


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Hello lovies! Brand spakin' new chapter for you! A bit of lighter fare this time around, a nice palette cleanser from the angst of the previous two.**

**Thanks to everyone who faved/followed/reviewed. I love you all!**

**So lots of chess in this chapter. I'll be the first to admit I know absolutely nothing about the game  
>(there's horses right?). Lucky for me the people of Thedas seem to play a different version of chess than we do, complete with an octagon board and weird pieces, so I was free to invent my own! So for those of you who actually play this difficult game, I apologize in advance for completely and utterly making up my own rules and pieces.<strong>

**Many innumerable, insufficient thanks to JayRain this go around. She allowed me to bounce so many complicated and spoilerific ideas about this story off her and encouraged me to go with the craziness I have planned. She is so wonderfully talented and if you are ever in the mood for a story that shows the journey between two people who love each other completely and without reservation check out her fic "Fumbling Towards Who We Are," centered around Dorian and Trevelyan. It is only a few chapters in so far but it's prequel "The Magician" and the accompanying one shots "Memories of a Winter's Night" and "Carpe Noctum" really give you glimpses of where these two men are headed with each other. Her Dorian is amazing, spot on, and one of my favorites. I cannot recommend her writing enough!**

**Also, shepard's purse was an actual medieval treatment for the healing of wounds.**

**R&R lovies, reviews are like candy; so sweet and the prefect treat!**

**(...I'll just show myself out...)**

**translations:**

**Bastardized italian:**

**Mi cara: my dear**

**Mi regina: my queen**

**mi salvatora bella: my beautiful savior**

**Dalish:**

**emma shem'nan, shemlan: my revenge is swift, human.**

Evanthe did not go see to her commander that night. She was exhausted in both body and spirit and her bed called to her with a tempting sweetness she found she could not ignore. It was enough to know that Cullen lived, there would be time tomorrow to see it with her own eyes. And so she pushed aside the hurt and confusion Solas had left her with and the pain and sorrow the battle had left in its wake and wearily made her way to her chambers, flopping down upon the mattress with a muffled groan. She was asleep within seconds, though she found no respite in the fade. Dreams of fallen soldiers, would-be gods, and forbidden magics chased her throughout the night, a pursuit she found she could not escape. She never woke from the nightmares, tired as she was, and was forced to relive Cullen's barely skirted death over and over. No matter how hard she fought or how fast she ran he would fall, and others would join him. Elissa, Varric, Dorian, even those who had already passed seem to die anew in her dreams. Cassandra, Josephine, craftsmen and peasants...they would litter a never ending battlefield, each of them gazing at her with dead, accusing eyes. And through it all she would hear a dark laughter echo across the landscape, a mocking of her pain that drove her to near madness. When it was only her, staring down her enemy and surrounded by corpses, Solas appeared beside her, gazing straight into the breach marked sky with sad eyes.

"The players change and yet the ending remains the same," he murmured as the approaching army bore down on them.

"What do you mean?" she asked, struggling to be heard over the howls of demons that were now but a whisper away.

"I am sorry," he answered quietly as he was gripped from behind by a monstrous red templar who began to methodically and slowly slit his neck from ear to pointed ear. "I only wanted to help, Mythal. The people...Evanthe...they needed me." Evanthe could only blink in confusion as he fell to the ground, just another pair of unseeing eyes staring at the fade drenched sky. She was still trying to figure out his cryptic words when she spied a lone woman standing calm in the center of Corypheus' army. The elder woman was smiling in the most unsettling way, dressed for battle in a studded maroon corset and shining greaves. Her hair, shock white and sculpted into dragons horns, ruffled softly in an unseen breeze, and the weight of centuries seemed to rest in her glowing amber eyes. Evanthe could only stare at this unknown and remarkable woman as she felt a blade slide deep into her belly with all the care and softness of a lover's caress. Falling to her knees she opened her mouth in a silent gasp of pain, and through it all the woman just stared, smiling, until at last Evanthe died and was wrenched back to the land of waking.

Blinking her eyes against the breached cloaked sunlight that streamed through her windows, she felt no more rested than she had the night before. If anything she felt more weary and tense. The jumbled words Solas had spoken and the appearance of the unknown woman had a weight of the portentous about them, and try as she might, Evanthe could not simply dismiss them as products of her over taxed imagination.

Pushing herself to stiff feet she glanced out the window and cursed softly. She had over slept and the sun was high in the hazy green sky, marking the morning as nothing more than memory. Hurrying to get dressed she hissed in discomfort as her tender hands protested at the harried movement. Solas might have healed the worst of it, but her palms were still aching, still healing beneath the skin. Ignoring the pain she secured her tunic and pulled on a pair of doe skin breeches before stuffing her feet into her boots and rushing out the door. Her legs carried her unerringly to the infirmary, eyes taking in the bustle of daily life that filled Skyhold's halls. It appeared as if the number of causalities had not been too great, but a pall of grief seemed to permeate the stones of the great fortress, and not a few of the people she passed looked at her with puffy and red rimmed eyes.

When she at last arrived at the infirmary she pressed her ear to the door, bracing herself for the moans of those in agony and dying. She heard nothing but tart arguments and boasting and cracked the door in confusion. Cullen was sprawled out on a cot, back resting heavily against the infirmary's wall and his torso was bare save for a bandage wound tightly against his stomach. A chess board sat in the space between his legs, the pieces only a move or two into the game. The queen sat opposite him, perched regally on the end of his pallet, her eyes contemplating her next move. Zevran relaxed languidly in a chair near by, lazily sharpening and oiling what seemed to be an endless amount of blades laid out on a nearby table. And in the midst of it all Cesare, somehow still awake and healing, flitted from patient to patient dosing out tonics and changing bandages.

"The warden's defense is such a common move," Elissa chirped with false mockery. "I expected more from a commander."

"It is unwise to provoke so early in the game, my lady," Cullen replied with a confident grin. "I'd hate to see your boasting turn to defeat."

"A queen never loses," Elissa replied coolly

"Surely a queen must lose or no one would ever win the game," Evanthe argued as she stepped through the threshold. Cullen practically bolted upright when he heard her voice, wincing as he did so, but Elissa merely shot a reproachful glare over her shoulder at the elf before turning her attention back to the board and making her move.

"If you must argue semantics," the queen grumbled. "Yes, a queen must fall, but trust me when I say it will be his and not mine."

"Evanthe, you...how are you?" Cullen asked quietly, staring at her with an intensity she did not know how to handle.

"Better than you, it would seem," she answered striding to stand before the chess board and surveying the game with a shrewd eye. "I'm not the one who got run through with a sword...nor am I the one about to be checked in seven moves." Cullen glanced down at the game board and frowned, and Evanthe could not help but laugh. "The Queen is right, commander, the warden's defense is common and easily beat."

"We'll see about that," he murmured before moving a chevalier from his infantry to flank one of the Queen's Arls.

"Herald," Cesare beckoned, tearing her attention from her game. "Have you come to tend to your hands at last? The boy, Cole, told me of their deplorable condition. It was quite stupid of you not to seek me out sooner."

"They are fine," she insisted as the healer reached for her. "Solas tended to them-"

"And did a passable, if some what barbaric job. The man is competent enough for battlefield care, but not for anything delicate or complete. Sit. It's going to take me a bit to undue some this mish mash."

"Do you ever sleep?" she asked tartly as she obeyed the command, setting herself down upon a nearby cot.

"I would if any of you lot would have the decency to stop trying to get yourselves killed for one blasted minute," the man groused as he began to work upon her hands.

"Has anyone ever told you your bedside manner is lacking?"

"I happen to agree with the man," Zevran interjected, holding a stiletto dagger up to the light. "Just look at him The poor fellow is exhausted, yes? Is it too much to ask that you stop playing at hero for one day? "

"Was that meant for me?" Evanthe asked sharply.

"No, for me," Elissa groused. "It seems Zevran here is put out at my presence on the ramparts and the resulting injury."

"You were always such a master at understatement, _mi cara._"

"Now the man won't leave my side!" the queen lamented, practically slamming a chess piece down on the board. "I can't even go to the privy without him being two steps behind me."

"That's...inconvenient," Evanthe hedged, amused by the two's bickering.

"You should have known better when you turned me into a glorified nanny, _mi regina._"

"I cannot wait until you are once again Harlow's problem and no longer mine," Elissa groused as Cullen took his turn.

"Such callousness!" the assassin cried, clutching at his chest. "You break my poor Antivan heart! Have I meant nothing to you these past months? The battles the fleeing...the long passionate nights?"

"Zevran, there were no 'passionate nights,'" Elissa remarked laughing.

"No? So it was simply my imagination? Pity, I was looking forward to rubbing it in your husbands face."

"You will do no such thing!"

"Why not?" Zevran asked quietly, turning his attention to the blade in his hand once more. "He will most likely do the same to me."

"Zevran..."Elissa sighed, leveling a tired look at the man.

"It is something we must face, _mi cara_, if we are to rescue them."

"There," Cesare interrupted, oblivious to the mood of the room. "Right as rain. You'll have the scars for the rest of your life, the wounds had healed too much and short of slicing you open again there is no way to erase them. But the tissues are whole, they should feel normal now. Do try not to bloody them up again."

"Thank you, Cesare," Evanthe muttered, flexing her fingers.

"Now, if that is all and there is no immanent death upon the horizon I would very much like to get some rest. Good day." The man took his leave, but not before stopping to poke around a bit at Elissa's shoulder, nodding in satisfaction when she simply smiled up at him.

"Checkmate," Cullen announced happily as the healer left and Elissa looked down upon the board in surprise

"Damnit, Zevran!" she cried. "You distracted me!"

"_Si_, I am quite distracting. It is part of my charm."

"Remind me why you're here," she grumbled, resetting the board and challenging the commander with a quirk of her eyebrow.

"I was waiting for the delectable herald to grace us with her presence," Zevran answered, tossing Evanthe a dagger with little care for where it landed. She caught it out of instinct, fumbling a bit in an effort not to cut herself anew.

"Me? Why?"

"It appears as if I am to be confined to bed for the next few days," Cullen answered, clearly put out at the notion. "You need someone to continue your weapons training. Zevran graciously offered."

"At your service," the elf offered with dramatic flair. "Lesson the first, _mi salvatora bella_; you must care for your blades, yes? A good weapon is much like a lover. If you do not give them the proper attention they will abandon you when you need them most."

"Is everything in your world related to sex?" Evanthe asked, catching a wet stone that Zevran tossed her way.

"Of course not. Somethings are related to death and dismemberment as well."

"How cheery," Evanthe muttered, watching with a studious eye as the man demonstrated how to drag a blade against the wet stone. "So you are to teach me swordplay then?"

"Dagger's actually," Cullen supplied as he made his opening gambit against the queen. "Upon further reflection I believe a sword to be too unwieldy for you. Daggers are lighter, more about speed and evasion. As a mage you should take to the discipline faster. At least I'm hoping. It's similar to staff work in a way." Evanthe shrugged in acceptance, not caring much which weapon she was trained in so long as she was trained. If nothing else the battle had served to bring that point into stark relief. If she had, perhaps, been skilled with a blade she would not have been stuck upon the ramparts and possibly could have saved Cullen from his injuries.

As Zevran began to teach her the proper way of cleaning and caring for her weapons the commander and the queen continued to battle on another on the chess board, offering quips and taunts as the game progressed. Evanthe kept one eye on their game, amused by both their styles of play. They were probably unaware of it, but each moved their pieces according to the strictures of their titles; a monarch and a commander. Elissa relied heavily upon her queen and court, sacrificing them to protect her line of infantry and even her peasants. It was the strategy of a woman who understood her duty to her people, a fierce need to protect those whom she had sworn to care for. Cullen, on the other hand, played as a soldier would; each move precise and planned out. His infantry was used heavily and he would rely only upon the court when no other choice was afforded him, but never the queen, she he protected just a fiercely as the peasants. He played knowing that a soldier was meant to give their life on the battlefield to protect those who could not protect themselves, and he knew that a Queen, no matter how head strong, deserved to be kept whole as well. Evanthe could see merit in both strategies, for each was noble in its own way, but a part of her now knew that it would matter little in the end. The peasants would fall, the infantry would battle, and one court would stand in bloody victory over another. For all that it was a game, chess was a grim reflection of how society had lived since the dawn of time.

"Mine again," Cullen declared in triumph as he advanced one of his templars catty corner to Elissa's queen.

"You take all the fun out of this, commander," she grumped, knocking over the tiny figure with an impatient flick. "I find myself weary of your constant victories."

"Then allow me to best him where you could not," Evanthe offered, setting aside the dagger she had been working upon.

"By all means, slaughter the man," Elissa encouraged, "he deserves it for being so infuriatingly good. I am sorry to say, however, that I shall be absent for your triumph. I must see to my boys. The battle...they have not adjusted well this time around, and are frightened to venture outside lest Corypheus cut them down."

"I'm sorry," Evanthe whispered, wishing there was something she could do to ease the little princes' fear.

"So am I," the Queen murmured, fisting her dove gray gown tight in her hands. "This is not the life I wanted for them. For any of us." With nothing more to say, Elissa offered a watery smile before quietly slipping out the door, Zevran a mere two feet behind her.

"Come and find me when you are ready, _mi cara_, there is much to learn," the assassin called out over his shoulder, rushing to keep pace with the queen. Evanthe nodded after him before turning her attention to Cullen who was studying her with a gentle smile upon his face.

"You're alive," Evanthe whispered, finally allowing herself to feel relief now that they were alone.

"I'm told you had something to do with that," he offered, smile still firmly in place but voice low and sorrowful. "What happened to your hands, Evanthe?"

"I've already gotten the lecture, Cullen," she huffed, striding to kneel before him. She could see that his wound had reopened, and a bright circle of red had begun to seep through the bandage tied about his waist. "We need to change this."

"Leave it," Cullen demanded, pushing her hands away as she made to unwind the fabric. "It was stupid Evanthe. Dangerous and reckless. You could have been killed. Moreover you disobeyed a direct order."

"And yet I wasn't killed, and I told you I'm not keen on being held down, Cullen, not even by orders and rules. I'd do it again and again if it meant the outcome remained the same. Now hold still." Slowly she began to unravel the length of linen from his body, each pass revealing more and more healing herbs packed tightly into the weave. The smell of witch hazel and shepard's purse began to assault her nose, becoming almost cloying the closer she got to the man's flesh. When she at last had freed him from his bindings, Evanthe dropped the soiled linen to the floor, and stared hard at the damage that marred the commander's flesh. It seemed much too small to have caused such chaos. A laceration of no more than four inches cut low across his belly to graze the apex of his hip, edges ragged and pink with healing. Catgut stitching held the whole thing together, though blood had begun to seep between the marks.

"I though Cesare healed you," Evanthe muttered as she readied a new bandage with herbs she found under his cot.

"He did. But he's only one man, Evanthe, and there were others besides me struck down on the battlefield. A few stitches and a bandage was all he could offer once he'd healed the worst of it."

"Still," she insisted, placing the length of linen against his wound and slowly winding it about his waist, "I'd prefer you whole. I think I would at least sleep better knowing you are up to any challenge we might face." Neither said anything more for a time, their focus directed at the redressing of near fatal wounds. When Evanthe was done with her ministrations she leaned back on her haunches and surveyed her handiwork with a critical eye.

"Why me?" she heard Cullen ask, and she looked up at him with startled eyes.

"Pardon?"

"Why did you...nearly leap to your death to save me? There were plenty of men who fell before me, why did they not earn your favor?"

"Because...because I-I cannot do this without you," she stammered out, pushing herself to her feet. "You are our commander, you lead our troops. We would be lambs left to the slaughter if you were lost."

"Is that all?" he asked quietly and Evanthe froze. She knew what he was asking, knew that he was demanding a truth from her she was unsure she could voice. It seemed as if everyone wanted to know the hidden reasons behind her near suicidal attempt at rescue. Solas had known, had very nearly berated her into admitting it, and now the man in question wanted answers as well.

"I believe I am to best you at chess, commander," she offer after a time, hurrying to sit upon the edge of his bed.

"Evanthe..."

"Black or white?" She couldn't answer him, not now. Regardless of what emotions might be growing inside her, the timing was inconvenient Who knew how long she'd be in this future that was never meant to be? Any connections she made in this reality were fleeting, meaningless once she landed back from whence she came. There was no room in her life for romance now, not when the past loomed heavy on the horizon. She'd already lost one man to chasm of time, she was unwilling to lose another.

"Black," Cullen answered at last, swiveling the board around. The two began to set up their pieces in a thick silence, neither meeting the other's gaze. Evanthe took far greater care than was necessary in organizing the tiny figurines, and when it was done three precise rows of armies stood at the ready; peasants, infantry, and queen and court. Cullen waited patiently for her to stop fiddling about and move, countering her opening peasant with one of his own once she had played.

"You're quite good," she offered after a time, nodding at the board. "That warden's defense was just ruse wasn't it?"

"Of course," he snorted, moving a healer to the lower left corner of the octagon,"what fool expects to win with that?"

"She played right into your trap, it was quite sneaky of you. I didn't think you had it in you to be so underhanded."

"You will find I'm not all order and propriety, Evanthe," Cullen muttered, frowning as she placed a Teyrn near one of chevalier's. "I know quite well how to be devious."

"Something I'll be sure to keep in mind." The two played in companionable silence, each choosing to focus on the game and not what was left unsaid between them. It was a close battle, their skills and playing styles evenly matched. Cullen eventually managed to claim victory, though it had cost him nearly all of his pieces.

"I believe I may have nearly met my match," he chuckled as Evanthe gently toppled her queen over. "Fancy another go?"

"You can't be this good," Evanthe muttered sullenly as she set up another game. "No one is. You have to be cheating."

"Ah, such is the cry of the defeated," he replied smugly as he opened the new round, trying a different tactic than before. "I do not cheat, herald, merely win."

"Evanthe," she insisted automatically, eyes glued to the board. "And cockiness leads only to embarrassing downfall. This one's mine, commander, just you wait."

"It's not cockiness if you're truly that good," Cullen laughed, "and I accept your challenge. Care to make it interesting?"

"How so? Money means very little anymore, and I haven't a copper to my name."

"Winner claims a forfeit of the loser." Evanthe mulled it over in her head, hesitant only because the man was so damned talented it would take every bit of cunning she possessed to win. But pride and the need to see him humbled in defeat won out and she found herself nodding in agreement. Cullen grinned in triumph and motioned for her to make her move. Evanthe complied and the two began to play the most intense chess game of either one of their lives. Each move had to be carefully planned and thought out, there was no room for rash decision in this. Evanthe's mind spun out the possibilities of every tactic, her brain leaping two, three, five moves ahead to what Cullen could possibly have planned. It was close, so damned close, and for a moment, Evanthe was certain she was about to win. But then Cullen changed tactics, moved one peasant one square and she realized that she had been played all along. She could see the progression of his strategy, the false cover and the feinting attacks. The game had been over for seven moves ago, Evanthe just hadn't realized it.

"You sneaky little...emma shem'nan, shemlen. Don't you know its unwise to trick the dalish? This is why we don't trust humans."

"Do you concede defeat? Cullen chuckled, raising his eyebrows in an open dare.

"I conceded it seven bloody moves ago, you just didn't tell me!" she cried, trying to sounded put out, but failing miserably. She was too impressed by Cullen's skill, and the grin that she had been repressing slipped out along the corners of her mouth. "Very well, I can recognize when I'm beat, no matter how infuriatingly unfair it is. What will you have of me? I warn you I cannot cook, and I was always abysmal at crating, so there is little I can-"

"A kiss."

The word stopped Evanthe cold, and her breath hitched deep in her chest. She searched Cullen's eyes for amusement, for some small reassurance that he was teasing her, but all she found was the gaze of a patient and very interested man. There was an earnestness there, a softening of emotion, and behind it all a dangerous heat smoldered, waiting patiently for a spark to catch.

"Cullen," she protested. "I-"

"A forfeit was agreed upon...I will not force you, Evanthe, but this is what I ask of you." Words escaped her, and she could not stop her eyes from honing in on his lips. She knew that she should refuse, offer sputtering about chain of command and propriety, but instead she found herself leaning over the chess board, her knee knocking the few remaining pieces over with a quiet cacophony.

"This is foolish," she whispered, even as she crawled closer. Her knees were now pressed against his, hands fisted into the cot and holding her upright as she hovered over his hips. Cullen leaned forward helping her to close the distance, and soon they were close enough that she could count the flecks of green in hazel eyes. When he lifted a hand to tangle in her hair she swallowed hard and closed her eyes. There was still time to turn back, to pull away and offer apologies and desperate reasoning, but Evanthe felt tethered in place, unable to move, and she found herself unwilling to fight.

"Thee," Cullen breathed against her lips, and she nearly swayed upon hearing the nickname on his tongue. It seemed to make the moment even more private, an aberration of time shared only between the two of them. Evanthe forced herself closer, wanting to close that last bit of distance and feel the taste of him upon her lips.

"Herald? Commander? Are you there?" Evanthe yelped and reared back upon hearing Leliana call out for them, causing her to lose her balance and sway wildly from side to side. When she tried to steady herself she over corrected and went tumbling off the cot, taking the chess board and its pieces with her.

"Herald?" Leliana inquired, pushing open the infirmary's door and staring down at her with confused eyes.

"Yes?" she answered weakly from the floor, embarrassment causing her to blush something fierce.

"You wanted to discuss troop numbers for our upcoming journey?" the bard inquired, holding out a stack of maps and infantry lists.

"Yes!" she cried out, pushing herself upwards and refusing to even so much as glance at Cullen.

"Also, Lady Morrigan has requested an audience. I think it best-"

"Excellent!" Evanthe declared with painfully false enthusiasm. "I shall go right away. Now. Right now."

"But the deep roads-"

"Are something you and the commander are more than capable of dealing with. I leave it in your hands. Excuse me."

Evanthe fled, though she could not outrun Cullen's frustrated sigh and Leliana's questioning of her behavior. She could not believe how close she came to kissing Cullen. It was foolish, and reckless, and most of all blindly selfish. There was no happy ending to be found there, and she knew that. Dorian would eventually duplicate the amulet and send them back in time, forcing Evanthe to say goodbye to a man who would no longer exist to mourn her absence, only to greet his other self and be met with blank confusion. It was stupid for her to even consider it, but a part of her wished that Leliana had at least had the decency to knock.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Hello lovies! Sorry for the delay but school started last week and now this thing called homework has taken over my life (apparently a degree in the social sciences requires a crap-ton of reading).**

**Thank you so much to everyone who has faved/followed/reviewed. I am so grateful for your readership and support. **

**Many thanks go out to the DA Fanfiction writers group on facebook. You guys feed my fanfic addiction in the most delightful way possible. **

**This is where I really start getting into the AU of this fic. I.E. artifacts and locations not in the game (but still in cannon, no worries on that front. I'm not making shit up, merely adding).**

**Also, Morrigan in this chapters. I don't usually write her, mainly because I'm not her biggest fan, so this is sort of an experiment with that. **

**After this, deep roads! Or at least journeying to them (took me a while, but we're getting there!). **

**Lastly I posted a one-shot companion to Brandy and Remembrance last week, entitled "Take Me To Church." Check it out if you are so inclined!**

**R&R lovies, reviews are almost as good as kisses from Cullen!**

As far as distractions went, Lady Morrigan was quite adept. Evanthe needed to put the almost kiss out of her mind, and she prayed fervently that whatever the strange, wild woman wanted from her would be enough to bury the memory deep. Her desire for such a thing was rewarded when, after some embarrassingly stiff attempts at small talk, Morrigan laid out her request.

"You want me to find a mirror?" Evanthe asked slowly. "In the deep roads."

"If it was a matter of simply finding a mirror, as you quaintly put it, I could simply walk across the hall and steal one from Leliana's quarters," Morrigan replied with exasperation. "What I am asking you to seek out is a relic, Herald. A bit of lost history."

The two women were seated in Morrigan's private quarters, surrounded by decaying bits of glamor and frippery. The broken elegance of the room seemed to suit the woman, Evanthe noted, as if she too were a bit of finery gone rough around the edges. Velvet curtains worn down to the nap, a fraying rug upon the floor, candelabra's with veins of tarnish along the gilt arms; it gave the space an air of trying too hard to be regal. And Morrigan, for all that she had lived at the Orlesian court, had the same aura of effort about her. There was a wildness to her, an echo of primal nature that lurked deep in her glowing amber eyes. Something about those irises seemed familiar to Evanthe, though she could not put her finger on it.

"I don't suppose you know the location of this mirror of lost history," Evanthe murmured in displeasure. She didn't fancy the idea of being turned into an errand boy. Her venture into the deep roads had a purpose, mad as it was, and she didn't need to be distracted finding what amounted to a misplaced antique.

"Indeed. It's location is, in fact, on your path to finding the dim witted king and his companion."

"That doesn't really answer my question," Evanthe noted.

"If you are asking for a precise location that I cannot give you," Morrigan replied with a bit of irritability. "Suffice it to say the mirror is in Ortan Thaig, near what was once a smithy. That is what I have been able to glean and what I remember from my own journeys deep below ground."

"A lost dwarven Thaig and a smithy...yes because neither of those should be in abundance in the deep roads, thanks ever so for the clarification."

"You are quite witty for one who is commanding the losing end of a war," Morrigan remarked dangerously.

"And you are quite demanding for one who needs assistance in retrieving her next bit of decoration," Evanthe countered. "As you noted, I'm trying to fight a war, I don't have time for personal errands people can't find the time to accomplish on their own."

"The eluvian is part of your war, Herald," Morrigan murmured as her amber eyes flashed with annoyance "Were this a simple matter of fetch and carry I would not be asking someone of your...talents to see it through."

"Eluvian?" Evanthe instantly shook her head and leaned back in a gesture of refusal. "Absolutely not. My people heard what befell clan Mahariel. What that girl, Merril, called up in her foolishness. I will not invite a similar disaster upon the inquisition."

"Merril was a child, playing at grand importance, dabbling in magics she could never hope to comprehend," Morrigan explained, seemingly unconcerned with the possible catastrophe she was courting.

"Magics, I'm assuming, you claim to comprehend. Forgive me if I am less than confident in your skill."

"Mother?" a voice interrupted, and both women turned to find Kieran hovering the in doorway. Morrigan's face instantly softened from its perpetual state of superiority into something that resembled unconditional love and sacrifice.

"Come in Kieran," she murmured, gesturing him inside with a gentle hand.

"Lucas says the seedlings are starting to flower. May I help Sister Angeline tend to them?" the boy asked with precise and flawless manners.

"Of course, my love. Have a care with them; seedlings are fragile, delicate things."

"I will. Thank you," the boy flashed a soft, sweet smile and bowed slightly to Evanthe before hastily running off to attend to his childhood. Morrigan watched him go with a fondness etched in worry, and Evanthe was fascinated by the tenderness that seemed to encase her. It was so at odds with the untamed and unflinching manner with which Morrigan interacted with everyone else in Skyhold. This small boy, somehow, gave light to something the rest of the world did not have cause to see.

"Where is his father?" Evanthe asked, once more thinking of the similarities between Kieran and the royal twins. She enjoyed Elissa's company, wanted to spin a friendship with the displaced queen...she had no such desires with Morrigan, and as such had no need to temper her inquiries with double speak and propriety.

"The better question is, why should he need one?" Morrigan replied firmly, turning back to face Evanthe with a familiar echo of annoyance. "I am all the child requires. Kieran is well cared for, educated, and destined for great things. The presence of a man in his life does not change these truths."

"They will figure it out eventually," Evanthe argued. "You don't give them enough credit to think that they won't."

"Do not seek to meddle where you are unwelcome, Herald," Morrigan snapped, a faint crackling of magic pulsing out from her in warning. "The ties that bind are of no concern to you. Kieran is the result of planned circumstance, that is all you, and his father, need know." Evanthe could plainly see that if she continued to push, it would earn her no favors with the mage, not that she particularly wanted them. Even so, she could see how Morrigan could be of use to the Inquisition. The woman was powerful, trading in magics many thought lost to time, and had made her worth known when Erimond and his troops had attacked Skyhold. Morrigan could lay claim to fifteen corpses all on her own; Evanthe knew the value of that, and as such had to do what was necessary to keep the woman content to fight on her side.

"What happens when I find the eluvian?" she inquired, turning the conversation back to its initial purpose.

"Why, you bring it here," Morrigan explained sweetly and patiently, as if to a child. "'Twas such a thing not plain?"

"What do you intend to do with it?" Evanthe ground out.

"I intend to restore it to its purpose."

"Which is?"

"Have you no sense of your own history, Herald?" Morrigan sighed in exasperation. "The eluvians were once the dominion of the elves, and yet you blink doe eyed and useless when presented with one."

"That's it," Evanthe declared standing upright and fully intending to storm out in indignation. "Find your own blasted mirror.

"Do you not wish to know how Corypheus wrestled godhood from the heavens?" Morrigan offered, still smiling placidly in that smug, satisfied way of hers. Evanthe closed her eyes and clenched her fists. She so badly wanted to storm out, refuse this impertinent woman and go about trying to save a dying world. But Morrigan had played her gambit well, and she knew she could not simply turn away the opportunity to find a solution in all this madness. When she swiveled slowly back around to face the mage she let all of her disapproval and menace shine through in her eyes, lest Morrigan think she was choosing to come willingly to this endeavor.

"How?"

"Find me the Eluvian, and I shall show you," Morrigan answered, and Evanthe wanted to smack her.

"How about you show me now?" Morrigan let out a long, theatrical sigh, as if Evanthe's persistence in this matter was some sort of social faux pas.

"I cannot show you without the mirror, but if you insist on an explanation than I shall endeavor to explain as best I can." She motioned for the Herald to sit and when Evanthe made no such move to acquiesce Morrigan narrowed her eyes and pointed forcibly to the empty chair. Somehow the two of them had been reduced to bickering young girls, maturity and comprise having been lost long ago. Evanthe rolled her eyes but flopped down petulantly into the chair, every line of her limp body telegraphing her displeasure. A glare was all she received in response before Morrigan cleared her throat and began her recitation."It was not enough for Corypheus to tear the heavens. The breach was merely a gateway to that which he desired. Once free to roam the valleys of the fade Corypheus had access to secrets and magic those that dream could never grasp. Access he used to discover the one true eluvian the fade lays claim to."

"One of those mirrors is anchored in the fade?" Evanthe breathed in horror. She was still unsure just what function the ancient mirrors served, yet an entire clan of elves had been murdered in bloody sport due to one's existence. To have one so close and unguarded to demons and vengeful spirits? It was a thought that did not sit well. In her mind it mattered little that they came from her ancient kin; some things were better left forgotten.

"Aye. 'Tis the only one of its kind. All eluvians are doorways, dual thresholds occupying space both in our world and another. This other is not the fade...it is both more and less than that dark valley that the demons call home. I have named it the crossroads, though that is not its true title. There the ancient elves were free to travel from temple to palace to forest unburdened by roads and time. That is where the twin of every eluvian resides, though most lie dormant and broken."

"And Corypheus found his way to the crossroads through the fade?" Evanthe inquired, mind spinning as this new bit of her history unraveled itself. Not for the first time she marveled at all that had been lost her to people. The rites and ways of life that were at one time commonplace now seemed as fanciful as one of Varric's novels. She had never been one to wallow in the past, to dredge and mourn over her people's loss of immortality and power. The way Evanthe saw it that which had been reduced to foggy memory and myth had little purpose. Her people had become gypsies, forever roaming the forests searching for a unrealized sense of home. To her there were far more important things to tend to than dredging up hidden artifacts and bits of language. Still...the knowledge that Morrigan was causally reciting was fascinating, and she found she could not tear herself away from the entrancing tale. She also wondered how a human, no matter how much a product of nature and wild things she seemed, could hold ownership of such priceless information.

"No," Morrigan answered delicately. "As I said the eluvian residing in the fade is unlike its kin. Its twin lies not at the crossroads...but at the gates of the black city."

And there it was, the deadly and catastrophic linchpin of Corypheus' rise to power. Evanthe could see it clearly now, could see why one such as him would rend the very sky and bring hell upon the earth. Leliana had told her Corypheus was one of the fabled magisters responsible for the blight. The story of the golden city turning black beneath the foot falls of man was shared across cultures, a cautionary tale of what havoc the never ending thirst for power can wreak. It seemed as if Corypheus was not satisfied with his failure those many centuries ago, and had at last succeeded in his attempt at wresting control of divinity.

"How?" Evanthe demanded. "How is any of this possible? If there truly was an eluvian in the fade then any and all manner of demons could have used it to access the black city. There would have been chaos and gods reborn raining down upon us long before Corypheus."

"All eluvian's require a key to activate. I can only assume Corypheus is in possession of it."

"This is too much," Evanthe muttered before leaping to her feet and pacing about the small room. "Bad enough that there is no barrier between our world and the fade, but now my enemy has access to that which unleashed the very definition of nightmares upon the earth." Morrigan was quiet as she mulled over this new development. Try as she might, Evanthe just could not make space in her reality for so great a monstrosity. It was as if her mind rejected the concept; tried to keep sanity intact by barring the door to anything that would make her world that much more unbearable. "How do you know all this?" she demanded after a time, whirling about to pin the other woman with her accusations. "You. A shemlan. How is it that you are privy to things kept hidden from the people, things only a would-be god should know?"

"I am no mere shemlan," Morrigan countered. "There is more to what we are than the skin we wear. Elven history is easily found...if one knows where to look. As to my knowledge of the eluvians? I was in possession of one...for a time. Before Celene was executed. It is lost now, destroyed along with a great many other possessions. The Venetori are thorough in their destruction."

"And is that why I am to seek one out in the bowels of the underground?" Evanthe inquired with a bite of anger. "Am I to replace your broken toy?"

"You are to seek it out because it will be of use, Herald," Morrigan clarified, pushing herself to standing in one, smooth liquid motion. "There is a power to be had in the looking glass. Will you dare to look? Or would you rather it fall to Corypheus' hand?" Evanthe didn't bother answering. They both knew that such an outcome was unacceptable. Suddenly feeling twenty years older and tired beyond measure, all of Evanthe's anger and disbelief drained out of her. This was once more the reality she was forced to live in, but gods was she getting tired of just accepting all the decay that surrounded her. For one moment she had wanted to fight back, to refuse to accept a new way of life that seemed to take so much and give nothing in return.

"If the mirror is so important to you, why not go to the deep roads yourself?" she asked after a moment, her last half-hearted attempt at refusal.

"Were I able to, I would. But Kieran keeps me tethered to this place."

"Why?" It was Morrigan's turn to pause, to grow silent and reflect upon the twists and turns of life that had brought her to current circumstance. A haunted look seemed to ripple beneath the woman's skin, and for a moment Evanthe saw her transform into that of the hunted. Morrigan had been, and possibly still was, prey to someone...and it made Evanthe wonder who...or what...was the hunter.

"Corypheus is not the only enemy I can claim, Herald," Morrigan said at last, voice gone uncharacteristically soft. "It is safer if I remain in Skyhold. There are creatures of this world far more terrible in their power than he." Evanthe could tell that she would be receiving no more information beyond that cryptic confession and so she chose to let it go and instead turned them back to the topic at hand.

"I'll find the eluvian," Evanthe offered, agreeing, as they both knew she would, to this errand of madness. She was not happy about it, but Morrigan had a valid point. Regardless of whether or not she could use this mirror to her benefit, she knew she must take it far beyond Corypheus' long reach.

~oOo~

A week later Evanthe found herself staring out into the world through the rusted bars of Skyhold's great portcullis Though she had gazed upon the land and the horizon a hundred times from the fortress' crumbling ramparts, this instance felt different. The world, already devastated and bleak, seemed dangerous and never ending, and the sky seemed to darken with every passing second.

She was going to the deep roads, and to say she felt less than prepared was an understatement.

Over the course of the last seven days she had immersed herself in meetings with those that could offer her council for this reckless endeavor. Troops were sorted and tallied against the needs of the fortress and the needs of the expedition. It was agony for Evanthe to weaken Skyhold's defenses but she knew that it would require more than her party to survive this mission into the underground, and so she had been forced to play a game of chance with her soldiers, hoping that the numbers on each side were great enough to ensure that everyone under her command would live to see another sunrise.

This venture into the deep roads would take some time, no matter how fast they hurried through the mountains and the underground maze that lay beneath. Evanthe had worried that such an absence would be devastating should Erimond and Corypheus attempt to attack Skyhold again. Leliana had managed to sooth her fears by laying out a plan that Evanthe could only call tactical annoyance. While she and her party were searching for Alistair and Harlow, scout Harding, still alive and as sarcastic as ever, would lead continuous and carefully planned assaults upon Corypheus' various strongholds. They would provoke, antagonize, and then retreat as fast as their legs could carry them. With such a sustained level of skirmish there would be little time or resources available to launch an attack upon Skyhold's walls. Evanthe thought it brilliant, but also suicidal. She knew that not everyone of Leliana's agents would come back from these attacks alive, and while war requires casualties of all kinds, it still did not sit easy upon her shoulders.

When not engaged in tactical discussions Evanthe worked tirelessly to master the discipline of wielding a blade. Zevran was a relentless, if somewhat flirtatious, instructor, and under his tutelage Evanthe's skills flourished. Cullen had been right, a sword was too unwieldy for her, but daggers suited her well. They were light, balanced, graceful even, and Evanthe eventually became proficient enough in their use to ward off an attacker. She was by no means an assassin, or even a rank and file soldier, but it was more than she had ever been before and she took great pride that. And it seemed Cullen did as well. Two days after he had been run through with a sword Cullen ignored Cesare's command for bed rest and limped out into Skyhold's courtyard, one hand pressed tight against his wound. Almost immediately he began barking out orders, correcting one man's technique and praising another's. He may have been too injured to actively participate in the drills, but he nonetheless refused to be absent as a commander. As such he was present for her growing success and Evanthe could see the pride he held for her shining in his hazel eyes.

For Evanthe's part she had steadfastly avoided the man every chance she got. Whenever it seemed the two would be left alone she fled, an excuse called out over her shoulder as she breezed away. It was unfair, and cowardly, but Evanthe could not bring herself to face him. It was not out of any sort of embarrassment, although after her less than graceful dismount from his cot that was most assuredly there as well, it was simply about not wanting to risk the outcome of such a situation. She was all too aware of the fact that she still owed him a forfeit, in fact she managed to think of little else at times. And yet, logic dictated that she stay away...despite how very much she wanted to tell logic to take a piss in the wind.

Her days were filled with training, tactics, and trying to outrun feelings she had no business having, and eventually the day came when it would all be put to use. Evanthe was at last venturing into the deep roads to save a king and a legend...and hopefully some small bit of the world in the process.

As she stared out into the land beyond Skyhold her party began double checking that all was in place for their adventure. Elissa and Leliana were quietly conferring over maps and troop placement, while Varric, Solas, and Zevran saw to their supplies and weapons. And all around them soldiers murmured their excitement and trepidation, their words mingling to a low and persistent hum.

"Sure you're ready for this, Boss?" Iron Bull asked, lumbering over to stand at her side.

"Ready as I'll ever be," she replied. "I've never seen a darkspawn before. Can't say I'm looking forward to it."

"You know, in the middle of all this crazy shit I'd almost forgotten the little bastards existed," Bull mused, one hand reaching up to stroke at his scarred chin. "Things must be pretty bad to forget something that can destroy the world."

"Thanks for the pep talk, Bull," Evanthe replied with a roll of her eyes. "Very helpful. I feel much better now about our chances."

"Anytime, Boss," the Qunari replied with a grin before slapping her heartily upon the back. Evanthe stumbled forward from the force of it, earning her a deep rumbling chuckle from the Ben-Hassrath. It was good to hear that bit of wicked in the man's voice again. For all that he had sought to take his own life, he was acclimating fairly well. So well in fact that she had ordered Cullen to take him as the commander's second. She could tell that Bull missed ordering men about, and Cullen's brush with death had only served to underscore the need for such a position. As such the Qunari would stay behind and begin the slow process of earning the respect of their troops.

"Evanthe?" She turned at the sound of her name and found Cullen striding towards her, a tightly wound bundle cradled under his arm. The man had healed completely, or near enough at least, and there was no more tight and careful stiffness to be found in his gait. He walked with a purpose, confident, and straight towards her which caused her stomach to do all manner of strange and unpleasant things.

"Yes?" she squeaked out, instantly wincing at the embarrassing noise.

"Is everything made ready for your departure?" he asked, and Evanthe let loose the breath she hadn't been aware she was carrying. Cullen was formal, professional, nowhere near the tempting man he had been sprawled out upon his cot a week before. It made this easier, and Evanthe let slide a small, relieved smile.

"As ready as it can be," she answered. "Honestly, I'll be surprised if we manage to make it back with our shoes on our feet, but I'm at least confident that we'll make it back."

"However shoeless and covered in frostbite you may be," Cullen laughed, gently easing the bundle out from under his arm. "I'm curious as to what situation you could possibly encounter that would warrant such a thing."

"Running away. Fleeing. Walking very fast in a cowardly manner."

"Ah yes, Very easy to lose shoes in such a situation," Cullen grinned, proffering the bundle to her with a shake. "Here. Perhaps this could help you retain your foot wear."

"Presents?" Evanthe inquired with a raised eyebrow, her hands reaching out to grasp at the offering. "I wasn't aware foolish endeavors into the deep roads warranted such a thing."

"They don't," Cullen answered with a shrug. "You on the other hand..." He trailed off then and Evanthe's hands froze in the process of unwrapping the bundle. It appeared as if her commander was not in as professional a mindset as she had hoped. For all that he was concerned about the details, he was concerned about her as well, on a level that had nothing to do with her title and everything to do with who she was. "Open it," Cullen remarked quietly after a time, shaking her from her hesitation and forcing her to quickly, if clumsily, focus on the present. When her hands unfolded the linen that surrounded the gift, Evanthe sucked in a breath at the sheer beauty that lay balanced on her hands.

Two gleaming daggers of pure stormheart winked up at her under the breach cloaked sky, the greens reflecting against one another in a dazzling ballet of light. The hilts were veridium wrapped in gurgut webbing, the texture perfect for grip and aim. Such a set of blades would have been rare in the past before resources had become scarce; to see such a pair now was unthinkable.

"Cullen," she breathed in wonder as she held one up to the light. The sun refracted off the blade in a starburst of rays, and Evanthe could hear a string of jealous Antivan curses be directed her way as Zevran caught a glance at the weapon.

"They should be a good balance for your hand," Cullen offered happily, pleased that she was so awestruck with his gift.

"This is too much," she insisted, even as she hastily unsheathed her old, battered daggers from her hips and began to gently replace them with the new ones. "I'm nowhere neared trained enough to do these justice. Zevran should have them-"

"If you insist, _mi cara,_" the elf called out innocently. "Be a dear and hand them over, yes?"

"Not a chance," she shot back, and the man made a crude, though humorous, gesture in her direction. Cullen cleared his throat, dragging her attention back to him, and Evanthe once more felt breathless, though this time it was not exquisitely made blades that rendered her so. The intensity with which Cullen was regarding her made her nervous in the most amazing way possible, and she felt her feet poise themselves to run, instinctively knowing that if she tarried any longer in his presence bad, life altering, wonderful things would transpire.

"You may not think yourself proficient now, but you will be. Soon. And you'll need a decent set of blades when that time comes," Cullen explained, guiding the remaining blade into the right sheath at her waist. Evanthe swayed a bit upon her feet at having him so close and swallowed hard, willing herself to remain passive and unaffected. She only hoped she was succeeding

"Thank you, Cullen," she managed to get out, voice steady and professional. "They are remarkable. I can only hope-" It ended up mattering little what she hoped, and for a moment Evanthe clean forgot the meaning of the word. Forgot the whole damn world as a matter of fact, for when Cullen cut her off with his lips upon hers, everything went still and silent. With one hand pressed firmly to the back of her neck and the other gripped tight about her hip, Cullen urged her closer, pressing the line of his body against hers. Evanthe complied, even went so far as to raise herself up on tip toe so as to closer meld them together. Mouth parting with a gentle sigh, Evanthe could feel every brush of Cullen's lips send shock waves through her skin. He seemed to hold dominion over her for that brief moment in time, making her numb to everything but the feel of his hands holding her tight and his lips moving wickedly against hers.

When Cullen eventually released her from his spell she blinked up at him with glazed, unfocused eyes. Distantly she could hear Varric whistling in encouragement and Bull making all sorts of single (not even double) entendres.

"Was that my forfeit?" Evanthe whispered, gazing up into her commander's eyes.

"No," he replied kissing her once more, a merely brush of lips that enticed more than it satisfied. "That was in case you don't come back. I'll claim the forfeit later." Evanthe blushed furiously at this, earning her a dark chuckle from the man who's hand still rested upon her hip.

"I should go," Evanthe muttered, hastily stepping away. Cullen let her go, a satisfied smirk painted across his lips. He looked as if he had just won a battle, and in a way, Evanthe supposed he had, though truth be told she didn't mind losing in the slightest.

"Are you ready, Goldie?" Varric called out in impatience, "Or are you and Chantry Boy going to play kissy face some more? Come on, hell's a'waitin'." Evanthe spared Cullen one more shy smile before turning away, one hand rising unconsciously to press against her swollen lips. As she did so her gazed landed upon Solas and she felt any lingering elation evaporate instantly. The man's eyes held the psychic embodiment of pain in their cerulean depths. It had cost him something dear to watch Cullen kiss her, to watch her succumb without a second thought, and say not a word of protest against it. Unbidden the memory of his voice swelled in her head and she closed her eyes against the hurt of it.

_I should be doing everything in my power to drive you into the commander's arms._

It appeared he was doing just that through passivity, and Evanthe could see that it was killing him.

Glancing quickly away, Evanthe swallowed hard around the sudden lump in throat and began to walk towards the now open portcullis

"Let's go," she commanded softly, feeling a guilt she should logically no longer feel.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Hello Lovies! Thanks ever so for your patience. School is a heavy load, but I try to make as much time for writing as possible. I'm going to try and stick to one chapter a week if I can.**

**I am blown away by the support for this fic. Seriously, everyone who favs/follows/reviews is one more reason to keep going, to put out another chapter. I write because I need to, but each and everyone of you make it a joy to do so. Many insufficient and numerous thanks to you all.**

**We talk a lot about music in the DA fanfiction writers group on facebook, how its a constant inspiration and how certain songs reflect certain characters in our minds. While there are many songs that contribute to the over all feel of this fic, this is the first chapter in which a specific song drove my muse. That song is Madilyn Bailey's cover of "Titanium." To me it perfectly follows Evanthe's emotional journey in this installment. Give it a listen if you're so inclined. **

**Thanks again to the DA Fanfiction writers group on fb. You guys are so supportive and always quick to answer my many questions.**

**Deep roads are coming, I promise. If not the next chapter than the one after. **

**R&R Lovies! Reviews feed the muse and keep the words coming!**

"Alright, Goldie, you're up," Varric commanded, huffing a bit as he fought against a particularly steep incline.

"Can it be used to kill?" Evanthe asked after a moment, weighing the question against what had already been asked.

"Anything can be used to kill, sweetheart," Varric said with a laugh. "I once knew a fellow who-"

"Please! Spare us the grizzly details," Elissa begged, drawing her woolen cloak tight around her shoulders.

It had been over a week since the group had set out from Skyhold, and the elements had not been kind to their party. The Frostback Moutains were an unforgiving series of inclines and valleys, the terrain made up of jagged rocks and tough, gnarled trees. Wild, untamed winds had a tendency to whip through pine boughs with shrieks and screams, echoing across the faces of the mountains that towered high above them. Densely packed snow had made walking an elaborate production, and the air was cold enough to freeze the breath in one's lungs. It was a miserable expedition, made all the harder by the staggered path they had been forced to take. Orzammar was not far from Skyhold if one did not take topography into account. Even then it should have been a short week long journey, but Evanthe had been forced to weave her retinue across the landscape, skirting enemy camps and strongholds and then correcting course miles later. As such a journey that should have been over long ago, was only half way done and the initial excitement that had bolstered their numbers had faded, giving way to short tempers and complaints. Varric, sensing the sour mood of his traveling companions, had proposed that they pass the time by playing a bit of ask and answer. It might not have kept them warm, but the childish game had at least silenced the grumbling as everyone pondered over what the dwarf could possibly be thinking of.

"Baldy?" Varric inquired and Solas winced a bit at the nickname before asking his own question.

"Is it valuable?"

"Can be, depending on the make. Alright kid, your-"

"Black Scythe, aged twenty years, barreled in the Free Marches," Cole answered instantly and Varric's face quickly fell into a study of stunned annoyance. When the dwarf said nothing in confirmation, Cole blinked and offered clarification. "Tastes like liquid sugar, fire going down. Warmth in the belly. I'll have a headache tomorrow."

"That's it," Varric declared, throwing his hands up. "Kid's not allowed to play anymore." Evanthe laughed brightly, the sound more a wheeze than anything else. Her lungs were burning from exertion as they fought their way up the hillside, making breathing and anything have to do with air a chore in and of itself.

"But I waited for my turn," Cole protested in confusion.

"I know, Cole," Evanthe answered sympathetically. "But the point of the game is to guess and piece together the answer. It's not fair if you can just pluck the answer from our minds."

"Then he shouldn't think so loud," Cole muttered. "It was just repeating over and over. A smug shout. It wanted to be named." Evanthe sighed and shrugged, too frozen and tired to try and explain more. Elissa, sensing her exhaustion, quickly changed the subject and redirected Cole's attention, leaving Evanthe free to focus once more on the path ahead. Varric quickly ambled up beside her, his barrel chest rising and falling with short, labored pants.

"Figure we're only a few days out, Goldie," he huffed out, nodding his head in the general direction of the dwarven kingdom "The closer we get, the more likely darkspawn'll start to show. Thought I should give these to you now, you'll need 'em." Evanthe frowned as he held out six empty glass vials, each stoppered with a pale cork. She hesitantly took the objects, pocketing five and holding the remaining one up to the light.

"What are these for?"

"Darkspawn blood," Varric answered grimly. "You'll want to fill each one to the brim."

"Why?" Evanthe asked, flabbergasted. She hadn't pegged Varric for the experimental or morbid kind, and was at a loss for what he could possibly want with tainted blood.

"Think about it, Goldie. We're going into the deep roads, land of the tainted. All kinds of bad shit goes down when you go underground. And at the top of that list of bad shit? Contracting the taint. Only way out of that pretty bit of bad luck is to become a warden. And to do that you need darkspawn blood."

"I thought darkspawn caused the taint," Evanthe insisted, getting more and more confused with every word out of the dwarf's mouth.

"Hey don't expect me to explain it," Varric protested with his hands up in the air. "Magic and brooding ritual isn't exactly my wheelhouse. I just know you need the nasty stuff for it to work. That and a grey warden who knows how to do said magic and brooding shit." When Evanthe continued to look at him in dubious suspicion his face turned soft and he glanced back at the thirty plus people who were slowly following them up the mountainside. "Trust me, Goldie. Your gonna lose men down there. Some by sword, some by something a lot worse. Collect the blood and pray to whatever pointy eared gods you got that the King and his ex know how to do the ritual." Evanthe sighed and pocketed the last vial, nodding in agreement and patting Varric on the shoulder. Her compliance seemed to relax the dwarf a bit and he offered her a smile, before slowing his pace to rejoin those behind her. Evanthe watched him go with a glance over her shoulder, taking a minute to pause and visually check in with the rest of her party.

Leliana, Zevran, and the soldier's seemed to be holding up well enough; having been trained to endure battle and bloodshed they were uniquely suited for physical activity. The Queen seemed to be struggling a bit, but she hid it well, brushing away offers of help with less than calm refusals. Solas was as unperturbed as ever, taking to their surroundings with ease and adapting instantly. In fact, he had been the only one of their party to utter not a single word of complaint on the journey. It was as if he was completely at home in their frozen surroundings. Indeed, he seemed to be content no matter where he found himself, be it Skyhold, the mountains, or even his cramped and chilled cell. His environment barely seemed to touch him. It was a most annoying personality quirk, especially when he would drag her from the warmth of her tent once they had made camp to instruct her on how to use her mark. She would be shivering the snow, her feet frozen and her fingers numb, and yet Solas would stand placid and unflappable, reciting a lecture about the nature of the fade.

Their lessons were not going well. Every night Solas would pull her out into the wilderness in order to lecture and demonstrate the nature of the fade, and every night Evanthe would fail to accomplish anything. Try as she might, no matter the manipulation, the mark upon her palm lay still and quiet. It was frustrating to be met with failure time and again, and even Solas was beginning to become a bit perturbed by the situation. Evanthe could still close rifts, of course; that had become second nature and the group had, in fact, encountered two of the small tears during their travels. When confronted with the second one, Solas had ordered her to use her mark to manipulate the fade and increase the portal ever so slightly in the hopes that such an action would give her a better feel for the strange power. The notion of "increase" did not sit well with the others in the party, and the man was quickly shouted down. Solas had stormed away in a huff after that, muttering all the while about the nature of fools and cowards in ancient elven. All of this made for some rather tense and awkward training sessions, especially when coupled with the fact that Evanthe and Solas were not entirely comfortable being in one another's presence. Neither of them had brought up what had happened at Skyhold's gates, though the memory of it hovered between them almost constantly.

The reminder that she would once more be subjected to another lesson once they made camp made Evanthe groan inwardly in displeasure. She was already so exhausted that the idea of doing anything beyond curling up in her bed roll and snoring seemed akin to torture. And yet she knew she would have to endure it. If she could learn to control the mark and bend the fade to her will then the Inquisition would have a mighty weapon at its disposal. Evanthe had not forgotten how quickly she had felled her enemies with one wild blast of power, despite how very jarring it had been. Resigning herself to another night of awkward conversation and frustrating failure, she made the executive decision to call a halt to the day's travels. She was tired enough as it was and didn't see the value of pushing herself into exhaustion when an equally fatiguing lesson waited for her once the group had settled in for the night.

"As soon as we crest the rise I want to make camp," she announced, digging her heels into the snow and pushing off once more. "It's so blasted cold out that-"

"Gasping. Try to breathe. Can't remember how to work. Where is Hanalas? Can't feel his hand on mine. Did they kill the da'len? Fading and still searching; must find the child," Cole recited suddenly, eyes gone wide in horror. Evanthe blinked dumbly at him, brain trying to make sense of what she just heard. Before she could think to question him, the boy sprinted off, scaling the hillside with clawed hands and slipping feet. Cursing low Evanthe took off after him, shouting for the others to follow. He disappeared over the rise and continued to run, vanishing from her sight like a ghost gone to ground. Evanthe pushed harder, her heart pounding and her lungs seizing with every harried step. Gritting her teeth she reached for the last bit of her flagging strength and forced herself up and over the lip of the steep hill, the muscles in her legs shaking with the effort.

"Cole! Get back here! Where..." Once Evanthe saw what lay at the top of the incline she ceased to care where the boy had run off to; she was too busy trying to relearn how to breathe. The gruesome tableau hit her hard, sliding beneath her skin and clenching tight along her spine. She was transfixed by it and could do little more than stare, even as she yearned to turn away. There were no words for what lay before her, and her tongue lay still and useless in her gaping mouth. Her mind no longer had room for speech, not when it was trying to make sense of all that she was seeing. When the others crested the rise behind her, they too were struck dumb and more than one fell to their knees and spilled the contents of their stomachs upon the snow. Tears stung the corner of Evanthe's eyes, brief warm flashes of liquid that burned her wind chapped skin as they meandered down her frozen cheeks. The scene was still a blur, but she was at last able to register parts of the whole...and it was horrifying beyond reckoning.

The ground was soaked in blood, so unnaturally bright against the stark white of the snow. The smell of smoke hung heavy in the air, cloying and bitter, and the world grew silent in the midst of all the carnage. Bodies littered the ground, each dead and beyond saving. Evanthe could only see the shape of them, crimson slicked outlines with no identifying features. It was as if her brain were protecting her from seeing the whole of the slaughter lest she cease to function if she bore the knowledge of just who these victims were. Burnt out husks of tents and wagons stood like black lesions upon the sanguine soaked snow, their remaining skeletons ash black and brittle. Something about their structure was familiar; a part of her that she couldn't quite name. It was only when she spied a smudged crimson sail, bent unnaturally and useless, did she fall to her knees and see the whole of what was before her. She could not stop seeing it then, no matter how much she wished to. Each body came into stark relief, sightless woodland eyes and delicately pointed ears plain as day now that she knew just who these poor unfortunate souls were. She knew now why the wagons had seemed familiar, and the curved swells of their lines forced her to recall memories of her own family's aravels; conveyances she had happily ridden in as a child. She knew what this was, knew who these freshly dead had been. It had been a clan. It had been her people.

Slowly her party began picking their way through the horror of it, uselessly checking for pulses in bodies long gone cold. Evanthe, gasping for breath, began a silent tally of the dead and fought hard against tears as the number climbed high with mournful speed. As her eyes flitted about the carnage, picking up bits of broken culture and familial ties, her gaze fell upon Cole kneeling beside a body and muttering quiet words that were lost on the wind. Half crawling, half sprinting she staggered to his side, collapsing to her knees beside the bloodied elf he was tending to. In her shock she had forgotten that the boy had "heard" the thoughts of someone upon the hilltop. Perhaps all was not lost and they could bring one elf back from the brink of death. It was poor consolation, but consolation nonetheless. Evanthe had learned to hold fast to what victories she could grasp in this bloody new world she now called home.

It was a woman; young, though old enough to have borne children. Her eyes were terrified, rolling in her head as she struggled to breathe. A froth of pink foamed blood spilled from the corner of her thin lips, and her body jerked with painful tremors. Evanthe glanced up at Cole and found him looking at her with wide, wet eyes. She knew that he could hear every panicked thought in the elven woman's head; the pain and the sorrow, the terror and bitterness. Evanthe wondered how it was that he didn't go mad from it. When he ever so slightly shook his head, she knew that the woman was beyond saving and that Cole would be privy to her very last thoughts, be it confession or mournful lamentation.

Forcing her attention back to the dying, Evanthe tenderly laced her fingers through the woman's, her skin smearing red from all the blood. It covered her from neck to hips, so thick and prevalent that it was almost black. The elf forced her head to turn, burning through precious energy and life just to gaze up at her kinswoman's face, to have a moment of familiarity in the midst of encroaching death. Evanthe gripped her hand all the tighter, forcing all grief to vanish from her gaze so that the woman would see only compassion and tenderness staring back. Something in the woman's eyes seemed to calm when she locked eyes with Evanthe, and she reached a weak and shaky hand out, fingers stretching to trace the vallaslin upon the Herald's brow. The barest brush of skin upon skin was all she managed before the light slowly faded from her eyes and her body gave one last violent jerk. It was so quiet, so inconsequential that Evanthe thought it an insult and she closed her eyes against the indignity of it all.

"How?" Evanthe croaked out, the words thick and scraping as they squeezed past the sob that threatened on her tongue.

"Red templars," Cole answered quietly, tenderly folding the elf's hands upon her chest. "They came down like hellfire. Full of the song they slaughtered at the behest of the melody. He sings in their veins now, and they must obey. She tried to fight back. They all did, but it wasn't enough. She lost her Hanalas in all the blood. Her da'len. She was still searching for him when you came." Evanthe nodded gently in acceptance and forced herself to look around at the devastation Corypheus' troops had unleashed upon the unsuspecting clan. The scope of it was beyond comprehension, and as such her mind only allowed her to fragment bits and pieces together, though that was more than enough to be horrified by in and of itself. It did not surprise her in the least that one of Corypheus' many arms were responsible for so much death. It seemed to be the monster's modus operandi. It mattered little what his goal was, if it could be accomplished through violence and suffering than so be it. His thirst for blood and pain went beyond the accepted limits of war. If a battle could be won by cutting down fifty men, then surely the battle would be made even more victorious by the slaughter of a hundred. Cullen and Leliana had told her enough stories of Corypheus' madness for her to see the ancient magister's fingerprints all over the small genocide spread out before her.

Pushing herself to her feet, Evanthe forced herself to begin looking at the carnage with a critical and detached eye. She knew that she should be searching for supplies, stripping the site for anything that could be useful. But all she could see were bodies and blood and her people wandering lost and grief stricken amongst them. She spied Elissa a good twenty paces off, quietly weeping and tending to a slain child; tucking a blanket around its much too still form as if putting the small creature down to bed. Evanthe watched in curious fascination as the queen delicately put a small blade to her mahogany hair and cut a lock free from the thick tumble. Gingerly Elissa placed the memento mori beneath the child's hand and laid a kiss upon its brow, murmuring a silent prayer as she did so. Evanthe was stunned as she watched the ritual play out. To give a part of yourself to loved ones passed was a uniquely elven tradition. To her knowledge it was not practiced outside of clans or alienages and she had to wonder how a human queen would know of such a deeply held act of symbolism.

Leliana stood to Elissa's right and Evanthe stiffly made her way to the bard's side, intending on asking the woman for any sort of wisdom she could offer that would make sense of the tragedy painted out before her. She passed Solas along the way and paused to watch him softly trace his fingers over a splintered statue of Fen'Harel, tears in his cerulean eyes. It was such an odd tableau that it almost made Evanthe forget her grief. No one offered tenderness to the dread wolf, it simply was not done. Why then would the man be so mournful of a god most Dalish viewed as responsible for the downfall of their race? Shaking her head she pushed such questions to the back of her mind. There would be time later to puzzle out Solas' unsettling behavior, right now she needed to address the nightmare that had been thrust into her path.

"Why were they this far north?" Evanthe demanded softly once she had reached the Leliana's side. "The clans do not seek shelter in rough and uneven mountains. We are of the forest. We are of the plains. Why then was this clan so far from that which we call home?"

"Corypheus has laid claim to much of what was once considered safe refuge for your people, Herald," Leliana explained sadly. "There are very little areas left for a clan to go to ground. Were I to guess, I would assume they traversed so far north in an effort to find some semblance of sanctuary from those that cut them down."

"Why didn't they come to us?" Evanthe whispered. "Why not seek out the Inquisition? We could have sheltered them."

"We offered, Herald," Leliana replied gently. "To every clan we could reach. But the distrust of humans proved to be too great a hindrance Without your presence to soothe the elders' fears the clans saw the Inquisition as little more than another exalted march, and refused our offer of sanctuary outright." Evanthe closed her eyes tight at this, silently cursing the stubborn and prideful nature of her race. It didn't surprise her in the least that the clan elders had let old wounds fester to the point of catastrophe. After all, that was their way; teach the insults of history so that the next generation may carry on the hatred anew. Growing up it had seemed a survival mechanism for the clan, but looking at the slaughter that surrounded her she realized it was little more than brittle ego given free and devastating rein.

Evanthe shook her head and turned around, eyes once more skirting over the bloody terrain. Something in the distance caught her attention and she frowned, narrowing her eyes to better get a glimpse. After a moment that frown turned to a snarl, and she placed a clenched hand upon Leliana's shoulder, silently begging for the bard's attention.

"And how do you explain that?" Evanthe demanded, pointing towards the treeline. About thirty yards off, nestled in a grouping of pines and shielded from behind my an outcropping of cliff, a small fortress stood tall and untouched. It wasn't large, probably only big enough to house one hundred men in all, but the fact remained that it offered protection, protection apparently unavailable to the Dalish elves. Evanthe could see figures standing on the battlements, patrolling and staring at their party with open curiosity.

"Dencourt Keep," Leliana supplied. "We are in Arl Dencourt's territory at the moment. It was once his hunting lodge, though now I suspect it is his home. It is well constructed, made for siege and storm. If the Arl lost his territory to Corypheus it makes sense that he would retreat here."

"And why did the Arl not offer aid when the red templars slaughtered the elves?" Evanthe asked in a dangerously quiet tone of voice. Leliana flinched a bit at the question, instinctively knowing there was no answer she could give that would satisfy the grief stricken elf standing next to her.

"If I had to hazard a guess," she offered slowly and with great care, "I would venture that Arl Dencourt did not think it prudent to sacrifice his forces. Even if he had offered support or safe harbor to the Dalish, he would have lost men in the skirmish."

"How very pragmatic of him," Evanthe sneered, her attention locked on the soldiers walking the battlements. Someone called for Leliana's assistance and the bard made an apologetic noise before taking her leave. Evanthe barely registered her departure; she had eyes only for Dencourt Keep and its inhabitants. She couldn't fathom it, how someone could watch innocents struck down with such violence and do nothing. Did they think it awful? Did their stomachs turn when they heard the agonizing shrieks of the dying? Or did they think it sport, simply because those cut down were elves? The thought had her seeing red, and she decided right then and there that she would not let so selfish an indignation stand.

"Stop her," Cole called out before she had even taken a step, cracking his head around to look at her when he heard the course of her thoughts. Evanthe ignored him and set off on her path, whipping her staff from her back. It took a moment for her party to heed Cole's warning, and by the time they did she had already covered quite a bit of ground. She could hear shouts of alarm and curses rise up behind her, but none of it touched her. She was determined, she would not be swayed.

When at last she was close enough to make out the faces of the men patrolling the battlements she swung her staff in an arc, sending a blast of fire straight at the soldiers. Her adversaries quickly ducked, their voices raising a call to arms. Evanthe didn't care, she simply leveled another spell at the men who had dared to let women and children be slaughtered without lifting a hand. When the soldiers had regained enough of their wits they quickly formed lines behind the crenelations, drawing bows and knocking arrows as they prepared to fire down upon her. When the first volley was released, Evanthe prepped to loose another spell, but was tackled to the ground by someone rushing her from behind. A barrier snapped into place around her and her attacker, causing the falling arrows to bounce harmlessly away. Evanthe shrieked her displeasure at this turn of events and tried to wriggle out from underneath her captor. She wasn't done, she hadn't yet repaid the blood spilled and it was a debt that needed to be balanced.

"Hold!" she heard Elissa cry out from somewhere off to her right. "Hold, damn you! By order of the Ferelden crown and your Queen I command you to hold!" The hail of arrows ceased at her words, and Elissa began urgently making excuses for Evanthe's assault.

"You must stop, da'vhenan!" Solas begged, his voice close and insistent in her ear. Evanthe realized it was he that held her down, and it made her struggle all the harder. He should be just a furious as she was. For all he spoke of being separate from the people, the fact remained that he was still an elf. Still viewed as lesser and worthless in the eyes of those who stood high upon the ramparts, safe in their smug superiority.

"Let me go!" she screamed, managing to slide out from underneath Solas' weight. It allowed her to get her knees under her, but she was immediately yanked back, the man's hands hooking into her elbows and holding her tight against his chest.

"It is foolishness, Evanthe," he insisted. "You cannot win." Evanthe raged against his disbelief, thrashing in his grip as she screamed and tried to find freedom from his iron-like restraint. She even went so far as to cast a spell, hoping to throw him off guard, but he continued to hold her, wincing a bit as sparks of magic bounced around the barrier he somehow managed to continue to hold in place.

"Evanthe, listen to me!" he cried out, forcing her around to face him. When she continued to struggle he gripped her shoulders tight, his long graceful fingers digging into her flesh to the point of bruising and shaking her violently. "It will not bring them back! If you attack it will do nothing but earn your death and the deaths of those who follow you!"

Somehow his words managed to penetrate her hysteria and she stilled, gasping for air and still aching to unleash vengeance upon those who had wronged her race. When he was certain she would struggle no more Solas released her from his grip, moving his hands to cage her face with a tenderness borne of understanding. Pushing her matted and tangled hair back from her eyes, his thumb gently tracing the high line of her cheek bone, he swallowed hard and held her gaze.

"Please, da'vhenan," he whispered, "do not let this consume you. They are gone. Do not join them in your anger." Tears fell from her eyes at his words and she gasped in a panicked gulp of air, trying desperately to hold back the sobs that threatened to spill forth. It was useless, the dam inside her had broken and her grief had nowhere to go but up and out.

A tortured wail clawed and scratched its way out of her mouth and Evanthe collapsed into Solas' arms. With her face pressed tight to his chest and her hands fisting his cotton tunic she screamed herself raw, an ocean of tears falling from her gold flecked eyes. Solas merely held her, cradling her with his quiet strength. She couldn't deny that caught gently between his lean arms there was a sense of home, of safety, and she clung to that feeling as a tidal wave of grief crashed through her. Together they knelt in the blood spattered snow, a woman cut a drift in sorrow and a man trying desperately to tether her back to sanity. Solas gave her everything she needed in that moment, allowing her to come apart and piecing her back together when she was ready.

When at last she was spent, empty and hollow of everything but a vast numbness she quieted, breath ragged and slow. Stiffly she pulled herself out of Solas' arms and climbed her feet. Solas stared up at her and let the barrier drop, freeing her without a second thought. Sparing one more dead-eyed glance at the wary soldiers who stood high above her on Dencourt Keep's ramparts Evanthe turned and took her leave, walking softly across the snow to stand amidst the carnage once more. When she had reached the fallen elf, the one who had managed to survive only to die before Evanthe's eyes, she paused and unsheathed one of the daggers Cullen had gifted her with. Reaching back behind her neck, she brought the blade to tangle of her hair and began to press. The strands parted easily under the edge of the weapon and Evanthe was rewarded with a small cable of pale, blonde hair. Slowly she turned her palm, letting the hair fall from her grasp, and watched as it fluttered down to rest upon the woman's much too still chest. When blood began to stain the strands red Evanthe turned and slowly walked away, leaving the fallen behind as she set off to save those who still drew breath.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Hello lovies! It's alive! I'm so very sorry for the delay in updates. I'm battling the mother of all colds and I find it difficult to write when my head is all foggy and stuffed up. Couple that with school and work and you've got a perfect storm of not being able to write. But here it is!**

**Deep roads are next chapter, I absolutely promise (Harlow and Alistair too!).**

**Many thanks to everyone who has faved/followed/reviewed. Your readership means the absolute world to me. I try to respond to every review but I feel like a few have slipped through the cracks, and I'm really sorry. To those who haven't gotten a reply, please know I value your feedback greatly and thank you profusely for taking the time to read my musings. **

**R&R lovies, reviews are the antidote to the common cold!**

Evanthe stared blankly into the crackling fire, the image blurry and wet through her unfocused eyes. She had spoken not a word since the party had left the slaughter of the elves behind, and even now, surrounded by starlight and the safety of the camp, she remained silent. No one dared approach her, even Elissa and Leliana had given her a wide berth. She didn't know if this was an act of kindness, a privacy given that she may better wallow in her grief, or if it instead was an act of caution. Perhaps they all worried she would break once more, screaming her pain to the heavens as she attacked blindly. Evanthe didn't care much which was the cause of her forced solitude, she merely relished it, wanting to be numb and alone.

A battered tin mug dropped into the right periphery of her gaze, held out in offering by graceful, slim fingers. Evanthe reached out to grasp the cup, turning her head as she did so to find Solas standing just behind her, a mug of his own held loosely in his free hand. Evanthe nodded in thanks, a gesture the man took for an invitation, and he settled next her on the ground.

"Tea?" she inquired numbly, raising the libation to her lips and sipping carefully. "I thought you hated tea."

"I detest the stuff," Solas replied, drinking deep and grimacing as he did so. "But I detest hypothermia more."

"Funny, here I thought you didn't mind the cold. You're the only one who hasn't made some passing comment about the weather."

"Complaining would not change the elements," Solas replied with a shrug, "what then is the point of lamenting that which cannot be altered?"

"I don't remember you being so infuriatingly pragmatic. Where you always this way? Or was I simply so blinded by feeling that I didn't bother to notice?" Evanthe muttered, taking another drink of her tea. It was a pleasant blend of jasmine and chamomile, and it left a languid trail of warmth down her center as she swallowed.

"Emotion does have a way of blinding us to the insufferable," Solas answered, raising his mug to sip once more, only to frown and put it aside. It appeared that even the bitter cold was not enough to force the man to drink the sweetened brew.

"What did it blind you to in me?" Evanthe asked, genuinely curious. Solas stiffened a bit at the question, startled that she would so blatantly ask such a thing.

"Who is to say I do not still suffer that particular malady?" he replied after a time, words soft and brittle. Evanthe wondered why he did not lie. It would have been so easy for him to select a flaw and pretend that his feelings for her were a thing of the past. Instead he was honest, giving her a truth that both of them could see, despite whatever deceptions they might speak aloud. She almost questioned why he had not offered a falsehood, but stopped herself when he looked at her with barely guarded resignation. She remembered then that she had told him trust must be earned. It appeared he was taking her words to heart. He would not lie to her, not even to save them both embarrassment and pain, because she had made it clear that anything less than honesty would put an end to his redemption in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said at last, and it was an apology for so much more than his lingering feelings. It was a lamentation of all they'd lost, of her own stubborn emotions, and for the burgeoning relationship between her and the commander.

"You have no reason to be, da'vhenan," Solas replied, "it is I who am at fault for my circumstances."

"Even so," Evanthe muttered, finishing off the last of her tea. "I know it can't be easy to see me with Cullen, and-"

"If we could refrain from speaking of the commander," Solas insisted stiffly. "While I freely offer penance for mistakes of my own doing, I nonetheless would prefer to not engage in conversation regarding your romantic attachments."

"Fair enough," Evanthe conceded, leaning back and bracing herself on her hands. "But we have to figure out a way past this, Solas, if only so that those who live with us aren't forced to drown in our maudlin tension."

"You are right, of course. What would you have of me?"

"Friendship?" She answered, and the notion seemed to surprise him.

"I do believe such a thing requires forgiveness on your part," Solas hedged, the words careful and edged in hope. "Can you truly offer such a thing after all that I've done? Am I not to blame for the current state of the world?"

"What is the point of lamenting that which cannot be altered?" she replied with the slightest bit of a grin, parroting his earlier words back to him. It earned her a breathy chuckle, and Solas shook his head, looking at her sidelong from the corner of his eyes.

"Were you always this pragmatic?" he teased and Evanthe laughed, the sound a cleansing all its own. It felt good to feel a small bit of joy one more. It seemed to lessen the burden of death she carried with her on almost constant basis.

"Hardly," she answered, tilting her head back to gaze at the night sky. "I've tried to hate you Solas, gods know you deserve it, but I don't have it in me. Even after all that you've done, what you set in motion...I don't know. I think there's a part of me that will always want you near. I can't fight against that anymore. And frankly, there is a whole mess of other, far more dire, issues that demand my attention. Petty anger has no place in this world. So I've decided to let it go...and claim your friendship if you'll have me."

"A pretty speech, da'vhenan," he said after a pregnant pause. "I forgot how eloquent you can be. Yes, you shall have my friendship, however difficult it may be. You may find it hard to hate me, Evanthe; I find it just as hard to to feel only simple camaraderie for you. But perhaps that is to be my penance."

"No need to be dramatic," Evanthe chided, rolling her eyes.

"Apologies, I suppose that was a bit over-wrought," Solas replied with a smile. "I am unused to anything other in your presence, having been on the receiving end of your own melancholy rants."

"Hey," Evanthe scoffed, bumping her shoulder against his, "no fair pointing out my bad behavior when I'm calling you on yours."

"And you wonder why I call you 'da'vhenan'," Solas mocked good-naturedly. "Your youth is ever present." The two shared easy smiles, and for a moment Evanthe could almost forget all that had come between them. It felt for all the world that they were back at Haven, sitting along the township's half wall and talking long into the night. She had been unaware of how greatly she had missed his friendship, gifted to her long before his romantic inklings. It was nice to recapture a bit of that, even if she instinctively knew it would never be the same. The moments of joy and camaraderie stolen beneath the crisp blue sky of that mountain town were tarnished a bit now. It was hard to replicate beneath the yawning chasm of the fade when the memory of such things were tainted by secrets. But Evanthe could try.

Solas took advantage of her introspection and rose gracefully to his feet. Evanthe blinked up at him in surprise, startled at the abrupt end of their discussion. Solas quirked one corner of his mouth upward in amusement before holding out his hand in a bid for her to rise.

"I do believe we have a lesson to attend, da'vhenan," he offer in clarification and she frowned up at him in displeasure.

"Really? You insist on continuing this exercise in failure?"

"It is only failure until you succeed," Solas argued. Evanthe closed her eyes at this and let loose a weary sigh. She was so tired, so emotionally wrung out and hollow. The last thing she wanted to do was tromp off into the cold, far from the warmth of the fire, and try to learn how to kill people more effectively.

"Please, Solas," she whispered, rubbing her temples and furrowing her brow. "Not tonight. Not after all that's happened. Just...just let me have tonight."

"There will be more death, Evanthe," he said quietly, and she opened her eyes ever so slightly to peer up at him. "Today it was a clan, tomorrow it will be a town. The slaughter will be never ending for that is its nature. You cannot allow yourself pause simply because it pains you. You must rise to greet it. How else are you to stop it?" Evanthe groaned, but reached a hand up, lacing her fingers tight with his. Solas made a grunt of approval before hauling her upright and leading her away from the camp.

When they were a good twenty yards off, far away from the flickering light of the fire, Solas brought them to a halt. Evanthe slumped her shoulders and dutifully raised her palm, preparing for another evening of frustrating failure. Solas shook his head and pushed her arm down. When she cocked an eyebrow at him in confusion he simply sank to his knees, motioning for her to follow suit.

"What's this?" she asked with open curiosity. "I thought we were to-"

"We must change your magic, Evanthe," he interrupted. She was too stunned by the words to do more than fall to her knees in front of him, mirroring his positioning. Sensing her discomfort Solas sighed and waved his hand in the air, as if he could erase his initial statement. "Forgive me. Your magic is more than adequate. What we need to change is how you access it."

"I access it just fine," Evanthe insisted, calling up a bit of fire in an outstretched palm to underscore her point. Solas smiled gently at her parlor trick before leaning close and blowing out the flame.

"It is more a matter of undoing the pathways you have unconsciously created to access it," Solas clarified. When Evanthe frowned, clearly not following his meaning, he let out a small sigh and endeavored to explain further. "Upon watching you call upon your power I feel that you, like almost every other mage in Thedas, access your craft through careful pathways. Think of it as a system of locks. You lower one barrier to access one school, thereby shutting off the other magics in the process."

"But I don't need the others," she argued. "If I'm casting chain lightening what need have I for incinerate or-or blizzard?"

"You are right," Solas nodded, reaching out to grasp her fade-marked palm and holding it up between them. "Were this any other lesson your pathways would be more than adequate. But this is different, da'vhenan. This is fade magic that has no school of power to call home. This is wild, untamed. It is raw and the pure essence of what we as mages play with."

"And my...lock system is interfering with this?"

"In your careful crafting of your power you have unwittingly created barriers between yourself and all that you are capable of."

"But I accessed the power once," Evanthe insisted. "It got out somehow. Clearly these 'barriers' didn't matter then."

"Think, da'vhenan," Solas urged. "Think upon how you let lose the magic upon that blood soaked battlefield."

Evanthe frowned but indulged him, turning inward to think upon that dismal day. She remembered her fall, so instinctive at the time yet obviously insane upon reflection. Her hands had been hurt, shredded, but she hadn't cared. She had raced to Cullen's side, only to be faced with a demon bearing down on her and the commander. The blast of power she had unleashed had seemed futile; a last, desperate prayer of foolish hope. There had been no time for her to draw upon the magic as she usually did. There was no controlled second nature spiral to access the spells at her disposal. It was more a letting go, an opening of everything inside her. That had been the difference.

"You allowed yourself to be flung wide, Evanthe," Solas explained, as if he could hear the course of her thoughts. "You're imminent demise allowed you to let go of your carefully constructed training and simply exist as a being of magic."

"I don't know how to replicate it," she whispered. "And I don't relish putting myself in near-death situations in some misguided attempt to."

"Be at peace, da'vhenan," Solas replied with an easy laugh. "It requires nothing so dramatic, I assure you. We must simply locate your barriers so as to better work upon letting them fall in tangent."

"And how do we do that?" Solas became quiet at that and a faint blush stained his cheeks, barely visible in the darkened night. "Solas?"

"I must guide you to where they are," he muttered after a time. "To do so will require that I...merge my power with yours. It is...invasive, though not unpleasant."

Evanthe's mouth grew suddenly dry, and she felt her heart beat ever so faster. If she was reading Solas' meaning correctly, what he was proposing was a ritual of a very intimate nature. The fact that he seemed hesitant about it, embarrassed even, put her a bit at ease. She knew he was not suggesting this course in an underhanded bid to play upon her tangled emotions. It was truly an exercise in power management, however delicate and improper.

"Will you allow me to do this?" He asked quietly when she had not said anything for quiet sometime. Evanthe blinked once before gently nodding her head, forcing her posture to stand a bit straighter. Solas raised his right hand, hesitating only briefly before placing firmly upon her chest. It rested just above the hollow of her breasts, fingers splayed out, the tip of his index brushing against the pulse point of her throat. Evanthe swallowed hard and her eyes fluttered slightly. It was a touch and placement reserved for those with whom she shared familiarity, and while Solas was no stranger, the history of their entanglement made this act all the more taboo.

"Close your eyes, da'vhenan," Solas commanded quietly, "and open yourself to me." Evanthe complied, at least with shuttering of her vision; she wasn't quite clear on how she was to open herself. The answer came a moment later when she felt the presence of something _other_ pressing beneath her skin. It felt foreign, strange, and yet were she asked to put a title to the sensation she would have named it 'Solas' without a second thought. This power that was begging entrance at her own was the pure embodiment of the man who knelt before her. It was woodsmoke and ether, physical and fade, gentle passion and fierce control. And it wanted inside her.

"You must let me in, Evanthe," she heard Solas order her and she took a deep rasping breath in reply, still trying to get to use to this wondrous intrusion.

"I don't know how," she breathed. Solas huffed every so slightly before redirecting his power and then she felt it, the slightest of ticklings in her torso; a tendril of magic pressing against an intangible barrier. Solas had found one of her pathways, had directed her attention to this block she had unknowingly constructed. Evanthe sucked in a breath and focused hard upon the wall, examining it with her inner senses as best she could. Ever so slowly she began to dismantle the wall, picking it apart until it was latticed and penetrable. She could feel the faintest pulse of fire magic residing on the other side and for a moment she panicked, fearful that she would not be able to reconstruct the barrier.

"Do not fear it, da'vhenan," Solas voiced murmured soothing. "The barriers are part of you. Their reconstruction will pose no effort at all. Evanthe nodded and continued her work, forcing herself to hold back the fire magic that beckoned lest she lose her focus and end up burning them both.

When at last she had worn enough of the wall away Solas slipped quickly and delicately passed, eager to to get inside lest the barrier snap close. Evanthe's spine bowed at the sensation, a shaky gasp breaking free from her tongue. It felt so alien to have someone else inside her, so intimate. Nothing she had ever before experienced compared to this. When his magic wrapped tendrils around her own it caused a startled cry to rise up within her, the sound primal and mewling. She could feel Solas, could hear his heart beat and feel the pulses of mana riding hot and heavy in his veins. They truly were entwined in that moment, plaited together so as to better instruct her in this exercise.

Inch by painstaking inch Solas guided her through her body, their magic searching out barriers and systematically dismantling them. Evanthe knew that this guided tour served only to show her were these blocks inside her lay. It was rather genius of Solas to show her in this manner. Whereas anyone else might simply have brought her barriers down so as to more efficiently access the mark inside her, Solas instead showed her how she could be in control of it. This lesson in magical anatomy had given her the knowledge to replicate the process herself should she so choose.

With every new barrier broken Evanthe's heart began to beat faster and her breath came in labored pants. When at last there was but one wall left, Evanthe opened her eyes, needing, beyond reason, to look at Solas in that moment. His skin was flush, pupils wide and dilated in a sea of blue. His breathing was just as labored as hers, and a look of intense concentration lingered in his gaze. When their eyes locked time seemed to slow and the two hovered on a precipice of waiting. Somehow this exercise had become more than just a lesson, and each of them knew it. Evanthe better understood Solas' initial hesitation, and part of her wished there had been another way. It was too late, however, to turn back now. Evanthe could feel a pulsing power deep with in her, yearning to break free and explore. They were so close, they just need to take that final step over the edge.

Whatever Solas saw reflected in her gaze was enough to have him pushing through, guiding her power with his own and the final barrier collapsed. Evanthe cried out as magic flooded her body, primal schools swirling and melding into unnatural braids of spell craft. This is what it felt like to be uncontained, to be open and raw. Beneath the overwhelming onslaught of power Evanthe could feel the fade, the pulsing otherness of her mark, and as it rose up within her it began to swallow everything in its path.

"You must direct it!" Solas cried out, the words harried as he struggled against his own share of sensation. Evanthe arched her back as another wave of magic crashed through her, eyes rolling back in her head. It was sadistically pleasurable, almost too much. She better understood why mages compartmentalize their power; to feel this crush of contentment and freedom was drugging and she could easily see how one could be consumed by it. The power rolled through her, blending and separating as every school of magic she claimed fought for supremacy. She tried to gather it into a cohesive cable but it was unruly, willful, refusing to bend to her commands.

"Evanthe! To the mark!" Solas cried out, reaching for her palm with his free hand and thrusting it upwards. She could feel that they were quickly approaching the end game. The magic wanted to be released, and it would do so one way or another. If she wasn't careful, if she didn't take control the results could be devastating. Gritting her teeth Evanthe tried once more to guide her magic, furiously working towards completion and control. When the power finally bent, ever so slightly, Evanthe cried out, the sound ragged and dripping in exhilaration. She clumsily guided the swelling magic of the fade down her shoulder, through her arm, and into her hand. It left her skin in a dazzling display of light and power, causing both her and Solas to gasp in tandem and stiffen up. The magic shot out, flying into the sky and exploding outward into a misty ball of green. It hovered, twisting and twining and emitting a low, dark hum. Evanthe stared after it in wonder, thinking it oddly beautiful. The display lasted only a minute before dissipating in a flash of light, a display that left her temporarily blinded. When her vision returned she let out a startled bark of laughter, tears pricking at her eyes as she gazed upon what she had wrought.

In the midst of the green tinted night sky, the smallest, barely discernible bit of black gleamed defiantly. It was so tiny, hardly noticeable unless one knew where to look, but present nonetheless. Evanthe fixed her gaze upon that bit of black and smiled wide, her happiness overwhelming her.

"Congratulations, da'vhenan," Solas offered a bit breathlessly. "Not only have you learned to access the power...you have begun to heal the heavens." Evanthe let out a joyous laugh, and swung her gaze back round to his. There was pride there, pride for her and what she had accomplished, but also tension laced with heat. It was then that she remembered their placement, remembered that his hand still rested above her heart, merging their magic into one. They had shared something, the two of them, merging in a way few before them ever had. It made things strange and uncertain between them, and even though Evanthe stiffened, she made no move to remove his hand from her chest.

"Herald!" Leliana called out, rushing over from the camp with Elissa, Varric, and Zevran in two. "Are you alright?" Solas dropped his hand, releasing her from his power and touch in one fell swoop. Evanthe gasped at the loss and felt strangely hollow.

"I am more than fine," Evanthe answered the bard, rubbing her fingers over the space where Solas had touched her. She could still feel the warmth upon her flesh, and it was comforting. "Look to the sky."

As Leliana and the others turned their attention heavenward, startled and jubilant gasps rising to their throats, Evanthe kept her gaze locked with Solas', unsure as to where they stood with one another. When he simply rose to feet, slightly shaky and off balance, she knew that they would continue on as before, pretending. It was for the best, she knew this, but the lingering traces of what they shared still sparked through her veins, leaving her strangely sated and utterly confused.


End file.
